Maps of Your Voice

I still hear you giving directions

even though I’m the one driving now.

“Don’t take that shortcut,” you’d say,

like you were allergic to chaos.

So I go the long way

past the bakery that smells like Saturday,

past the park where you taught me

The names of trees you probably guessed.

﹁﹂

Your voice lives in my GPS silence,

in the pause before I turn,

in the way I tap the steering wheel

Exactly when the light goes yellow.

﹁﹂

I tried to delete old voicemails,

But my thumb hesitated

like it was standing at the edge of a lake

and didn’t trust the depth.

﹁﹂

Some days I replay nothing,

just your breath between words,

the soft laugh you made

When I mispronounced “croissant” on purpose.

﹁﹂

I’m not lost, exactly.

I’m just navigating

with a map drawn from memory,

roads labeled with your habits,

detours named after love,

and one blank spot

I’m not ready to fill without you.