The first time you left for all of my wanting too much
I waited
as long as I could
before I filled the shoebox with
our wedding,
our home in Indiana,
and our
daughter with
mismatched eyes.
I buried
it
all
in the empty
field
that would soon become a large and busy gas station
across the street from the restaurant
where we’d had our first awkward date that
ended with us stumble-kissed and full of sunrises.
Our girl is 5 years old
when you come back and ask
for her.
I can no more resurrect
the mother hunger in me
than I can reach thru the concrete
and pull
her
out for you now.