Starch

I watched her scrape tears from your cheeks. Lie over your body as blotting paper. I saw no imprint. She unfurled rage from her hands as if to blowtorch you to smithereens that could be kept in a jar of crunched seashells. Mineral casings repeatedly, forcefully walked over, her soles thickened by the jags of your weeping. For her. For you. Not for me. She wiped your outline with remnants of your goodbye. She held the tears as blocks of ice in her fists. She rolled the blue surf under and over her feet. She walked around you. Circled you. Plunged into the traces she drew. She knew you. Did not need to know me. She scrunched your tears underfoot. Hid them from the light, until the swell was too much and she was once more thrown around the room. I counted her steps. I worked out the exact fade of blue as if each droplet and footfall were a human abacus. I watched her love you and then I picked up the sodden pieces of you and left.