My Pillow by Pearl Chan I wonder whose head lies there now,
swish of hair forming a question mark on the case, thoughts leaving a soft impression when she rises in the morning to put on coffee. When you are away she must hug it close as I once did, holding your place until you return. I want my pillow back. Perhaps I could steal into your room
when you are full of sleep and each other's arms and slide it out
from under her careless head. Slipping away to my own bare room, prize clutched in thin cold fingers, I imagine that it holds a faint trace of your warm soap scent.
Signs by Megan Hutchison
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