by Erin Dorney

I left my blanket in the backseat of your car.
I left my feather in gate 2B of the airport.
I left my nail polish in your mouth,
my sewing machine in the mall—
I left my bobby pins on the pier.
Left my willpower on your sweating neck,
my collarbone on the front porch—
earrings in the tire swing,
I left my seashell in your armpit.
I left my nightmares in Ohio.
I left my long hair in the cave,
my hammer in your glovebox
I left my eyelashes in the ashtray
my lung in a—somewhere…
I left my jacket in the shower.
I left my thigh beneath your pillow,
left my molars in the freezer,
fire in the basement—
loneliness in the top dresser drawer.
I left my heartache in the French press,
fingers on a city bus,
I left my missing on a stone beach,
my memory in the long grass.

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