THE SPACE YOU LEAVE BEHIND, BY GRACE WAGNER
I love to occupy the space you leave
behind. I love the mud
that leaves the outlines of your feet
for me to step into. I imagine
the edges of your skin, inhabit
the contours of your curves
and feel at home in them.
At night, I walk the path you take
every morning past my house
and feel a phantom
in your footprints. The lake laughs
beneath the light of the moon, bare
on its string, swinging soft crescents
above me as I pace.
Tomorrow maybe, I will reach out,
entwine my fingers with yours, feel the edges
of your hand, occupy space together
until your heart beats hard against mine.
Grace Wagner is a queer, nonbinary poet living with a disability in Houston, TX where they teach at the University of Houston and work as Assistant Poetry Editor for Gulf Coast. Their work has appeared in The Atlanta Review, The Offing, Palette Poetry, Salmagundi, Blue Stem, is upcoming in Hayden's Ferry Review, and elsewhere. They were recently honored with an Academy of American Poets Award. For more, visit gracewagnerpoet.com