darkness had no regard
for the kitchen’s light
or the sound of a man sobbing
could easily be confused with the sound
of a wintery lake pummeling
a rocky shore with ice
or an empty door frame’s shape
could bring me to my knees,
then I am speaking of the terrible
string of days you were not here.
Not in another town or state or across the border line.
And not dead. Though close.
Amy Woschek Schmidt’s work has been published or is forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, The Florida Review, Ruminate Magazine, Camroc Press Review and Calyx, among others. She has been nominated for numerous Pushcart Prizes and has been a finalist for the Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize and the Smartish Pace Beullah Rose Poetry Prize. She is also the recipient of three Arrowhead Regional Arts Grants. She homesteads in northern Minnesota where snow is…
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