A long drop split the air beside her clamped jawbone, dented the carpet fibers the width of a dust mite – a silent crash.
Suddenly she felt the tilt of absence, then got lost – looked in the wrong place.
Now she wears the single one mismatched.
No one notices the missing mate.
I’m on a poetry binge this month. The Lady Smock characters will return eventually but something about October pushes me to poetry so I’m just going with it. – Susanne