Eliana Chow

dearly beloved

I miss morning light dappled across off-
white pages of out-of-print poetry.

I miss waking up to the blackbird’s song
and the goose’s melancholic question.

I miss ambling down the dirt road remains
of a lane once tread by Mary Janes on
their way to the one-room schoolhouse.

I miss giggling with the deer when they
appear like whispers around the bend.

I miss the whole self I only piece together
and surrender surrounded by trees.

I miss opening my window to silence.