You will be leaving soon, drifting to where you cannot find me—our days a flock of blackbirds gone south for the winter. I miss already your words at play: laughter that breaks the skin of the river again & again. Behind the house, smoke drifts from the neighbor’s chimney, the birdbath’s empty—I have no words for this: I am lost in the crunch and click of the frost—its voice an accusation: I do not want you to forget my name but when you do, promise to remember what we had, to linger in every goodbye like the last wren at the feeder, like the salt on your skin after making love. Our time together was marked by more laughter than tears—these notes, they’ll continue sailing; there is nothing else like them.
Terry L. Kennedy is the Associate Director of the Graduate Program in Creative Writing at UNC Greensboro and Associate Editor of The Greensboro Review. In addition, he edits the online journal storySouth. His work appears in a variety of literary magazines and journals including Cave Wall, from the Fishouse, roger, and Southern Review. His chapbook, Until the Clouds Shatter the Light That Plates Our Lives, recently appeared from Jeanne Duval Editions of Atlanta, GA.