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THE SPACE BETWEEN

Written March 2020.


Love is heartbreak.

It’s cracks created in the concrete where you once walked

It’s the way my hands once held yours

So big, so small

It’s scratchy sweaters, squished against your chest when you hugged me deep

It’s family photos frozen in the moments we knew were ending soon

Neither of us wanted to say goodbye


It’s sitting now

Sunlight bouncing on my legs

In my little backyard

My husband, his radio, in the window above

It’s knowing you’ll never be here

It’s knowing that you would love it here

It’s the space between


It was that last night in the hospital

Us gathered around

Watching your chest rise and fall

My hand on yours

So big, so small

It was consonants and vowels tripping out our lips

Taking up space


It’s the door closing

My mother inside

Us outside

It’s waiting

It’s departing and arriving at the same time



It’s one story

Folded into decades

It’s the moment they first met

It’s the sharing of space

It’s her emerging alone


It’s parents splitting a half can of beer

After dinner

Watching their children

Laughing, shoving, clamoring

Around a yellow kitchen

Playing games of their own invention

It’s living inside worlds created solely on leaps of faith



It’s me moving along

Streets we never walked together

And knowing

Exactly

What we would say

This is love.


[All content written by Liz Goode. Not to be reproduced without permission.]

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