This is a poem about what stays even after it’s gone. It’s inspired by phantom limb syndrome, when the body feels the presence of something that has been lost, and the mind refuses to let it disappear. Written as a modern sonnet, it keeps the traditional 14-line shape but moves freely within it.
“I swear it pulses still”
The presence of absence; how it lingers,
louder than limbs. I swear it pulses still.
I wake and reach for what the night erased
and feel it burning, wrapped in phantom flame.
They say it’s gone. But movement stirs the air,
a ghost of muscle flickers in the dark.
The mirror shows a blank I can’t accept;
I mourn the shape, the weight that used to be.
I crave what isn’t there. The touch returns
at midnight, over tea. You never left.
No need to say goodbye when you remain
in gesture, shadow, twitch, or sudden ache.
I see you, still. And though I do not cry,
my smile fades. I’m dancing on your grave.
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