For Sam
By Jennifer Davidson
It wasn’t even a full sentence later
but the moment expanded
and the distance between us
expanded
and the universe turned
and we turned
away from each other
and no amount of run-on could bring us back
to the start.
It was a contextual error, and I said it anyway
the wooly words rolling across the air like tumbleweeds
picking up dust, increasing in size
stopping short of sticking to you
they hung there, embarrassed
refusing to be digested
until with a small breath,
you moved them out of your way
and went on.
Now I don’t know how to finish
and you are already done.
I’m a parenthetical thought
and you’re punctuation.
Jennifer Davidson is a writer, designer, and entrepreneur living in Monterey, California in the U.S. with her two dogs and partner. She likes to do two impossible things before breakfast every day.