Seagull

It has been 10 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days
since your big white teeth smiled at me
from the wet exile of those lips.
That�s nearly a year that I have watched TV,
listened to the Violent Femmes,
and brushed my teeth in the morning
without you hovering over me.
But now your avocado eyes
are looking through my window again,
pleading with me across the glass
to let you into the room that still smells
like the sand that lingered on you nearly every night.
But I know what you will say when I talk to you.
I know that you will grin and remind me
of the time we made marshmallow brownies at 3am.
I know that you�ll never doubt whether or not I�ll let you in
as you bring up the night you stole the American flag
from the flagpole at McDonald�s,
and presented it to me with some azaleas
and an E.L. Fudge cookie.
And I know that you will reach into me,
grabbing for the heart that loved you so completely.
But you will stop smiling when you realize
that old dandelion heart is not there anymore,
and I will not let you in to find the new one.