The Things We Leave Behind

today at work, in the office of white paper stacks to the ceiling
i didn't even notice how the amaryllis flower in the window
right in front,
right there in front of my face had
fully blossomed and when i did noticed
it made my heart leap, as if startled by someone
who'd crept up on me cruelly.

and yet right away i had noticed
at the bottom of the nearby trash can the
sticky note stuck there, neatly
in green pen, a name, "allison"
a group of flowering ink surrounding her
at the bottom of a trash can
a piece of her once life tucked away, discarded

and we walk into each day, opening our eyes
to remember in the dark morning
that it was not a nightmare and
proceed forward, step by mechanical step
to bury ourselves among the
piles of white paper, ignoring
the amaryllis and how she used to stand on this
orange carpeting, and pretending
that we won't Go too, and that
they didn't have to tape that sign over their doorway
to keep the reporters out.

sticking, on the bottoms of trash cans,
the things that actually happened.

***

she is scattered all over that office. on the sticky notes, on pieces of old yellow paper - notes to her mother. her picture on her mother's desk. on the covers of those books she'd designed that summer.

when we sat there side by side that summer, chatting and working, writing and doodling, we didn't know that half a year later, i'd be reading her obituary in that same seat, surrounded by her old and beautiful doodles still clinging neatly to the walls.

i still get chills to the bone. i am so sad for them.