this rain is

just sad. she sits by the kitchen window

not sure what to do with her hands besides

stare at her fingertips, as if somehow

that would bring it all back. the traffic

makes the weather sound like you’re just sitting by the

sea.

the air smells of grass and

unwanted echoes. she’s not sure how to

reply

decides to paint her nails instead while

the rain quiets down. this is the chair he sat in

drinking coffee

mumbling into the newspaper. this is the view he looked at

while smoking. it’s hard to be angry at someone who

leaves such a void. sometimes she thinks

he’s probably watching her cook

just to check if she still refuses to flip her pancakes

if she still dips her pinkie into the pasta sauce

to try it. everything tastes the same without company

but carrying on as always makes it a little less

bitter.

this rain is

just sad but sitting by the kitchen window

enables her to pretend

it isn’t.

Written by Laura Tavasse.

Laura Tavasse was born in Vienna and is stubbornly holding on to the idea of writing a book one day. Meanwhile, she spends her days studying something completely different, regularly spilling her black tea, reading books on the evening train, not practicing the piano, and waving at security cameras. Her poems have been published at Burning House Press, Moonchild Magazine, Bonnie’s Crew and Pulp Poets Press. You can find her on Twitter here.