They told me you were gone, and I just froze,
Like the icy rain that fell that day and turned
into cold sludge
Out in the streets, where the cars still ran
and people trudged
On and on, in their own little ruts,
towards some insignificant goal

The rain turned to sticky, sickly snow that
covered the world’s
Ugliness and masked it in angelic white,
deceitful, treacherous

I slipped and slid down the street, to the old
house, where we once lived
Together, but now it seemed so small, crammed
with memories
That I pushed through and unlocked the door,
with plenty of difficulty
Because the lock was worn but not my old key

Whispers rushed and gushed and almost toppled me over
Back into the sludge in the street, but I
soldiered on, up the stairs,
Diving through thick, stale time, I reached our landing
and there they were

Your shoes on the floor, your jacket on the rack,
as if you had

Just arrived home.

Erna Grcic, Beneath the Surface