Dear Jean,
It's 2am and the river is the only sound. The mill whistle won't blow for another three hours.
I have the newspaper open to the horoscopes. I read yours, Virgo, every night even though you're gone.
Your scissors are still in the drawer. The crossword we started together is still on the table, half done in black and blue.
You were always the one who believed the horoscopes would come true. I just liked the pattern of the words.
The moving boxes sat in the garage for a year. Last Tuesday I finally broke them down. I kept one box with your clippings.
Tonight your horoscope says 'A new cycle begins.' I don't know if I believe that. But I read it out loud anyway.
Your side of the bed is cold, but the alarm is set for tomorrow. I'll take the truck out before dawn.
I guess these late nights are when I remember you best. When the world is quiet and I can still hear your voice in my head.