Lisa Minner is a New Englander living in Virginia. When she isn’t writing, she is busy editing Subliminal Interiors Magazine.
I was driving away
until I remembered the windowsill
I left in your medicine cabinet,
between the tape and the stapler.
You’ll feel better now that I have the sill,
since I have the window.
It misses you,
and kisses and black roll down
How about you write me a seashell,
and leave it in my jewelry box
beside the earrings.
Do you remember when I used to drink your moments,
and you borrowed my breaths?