The white sheet stretched across his side of the bed
I reach out to empty.
White walls echo.
I never knew how absence would hollow me
and he would be sunk through.
His head against the headboard split.
The blood red pen between his teeth.
His Virgo body parted at his chest.
How could I know that frost in the bed would scorch?
Thrust in to space I repel a black hole.
The ground shakes. My arms circle an oak.
Fog hazes headstones of these Saturday morning graves.


Florence Murry’s poetry has appeared in Rockhurst Review, CQ/California State Poetry Society, Southern California Review, The Black Buzzard Review (Florence Bohl), and others, and her poem “Exhumed” received an Honorable Mention in a contest for Cultural Weekly.