It was Monday
when you burned up,
in a swell of
fire and brimstone.
Charcoal to ashes and
rage to despair.
Now, I crawl
just to transfer your dust
to my belly.
Because
all that you left me
were dirty wood floors,
and mops maintain such an
impersonal distance.

————

Anna Della Zazzera is a part-time writer and full-time narwhal enthusiast. Her poetry has appeared in the Feathertale Review, Paper Crow, and Futuredaze: An Anthology of YA Science Fiction. She lives in beautiful British Columbia in an ugly white house with a view of the mountains. Visit her ramblings at annadz.wordpress.com.