You’ve told me once before, but I forgot. The
trees were too loud, or, maybe I was too busy

picking the skin from my fingers. The dead
follicles still remain on the floor as I try to remember

the words you claim to have been important. But now
the moon has risen and you have been gone for several

years. The ladder has fallen. Maybe it had something to do
with the empty streets and burning trashcans

outside my window.

Kimberly Ruth