Do I miss you? No, yet that’s not true.
I miss my childhood home, miss my loving
cat, my backyard. I miss my room, my
safe space. I miss the cigarette smoke,
the scent of your car. I miss my
Grandparents. I miss my tree. I miss
spontaneous car rides with you that don’t
end in fighting.
I don’t miss you. I miss the pieces of you
I have left. I lost so many along the way.
I miss what I can of you, but I don’t
miss living in endless turmoil. I miss
late-night talks on the porch, barely able
to breathe because of second-hand smoke
in my lungs when you’d tell me the
missing pieces.