Thomas Oliver

After Noon

It’s just after noon. Summer is starting to thin into September, the trees are noisier, their dry leaves are scratching at the air, impatient. You leave in ten minutes, the world waiting to turn beneath your feet. It feels strange to think of you gone, to listen to an empty house, to hear the vacant air groan, to feel stillness. You’re leaving. Things are at an end. Life will need adjusting, I might move my bed to the window, or turn the living room around, plant a garden, something to trick myself out of missing you.