Three

by MELISSA COOK

I can’t find you anymore
and there’s a landslide in there.
Our feet don’t touch the runway and
I never thought I’d say this but I miss
the three-hour plane rides between you
and home. I was a coffee drinker back
then, addicted to caffeine and your
fingertips. An amateur artist on flights
drawing compasses with hearts and
poems. I was the first blind mouse of
three, and I knew your culture loved
threes, three graces, three gorgons,
three furies. Signs of unity and trinity
but we lost these. You’ve been
consuming my metaphors lately and
I’m not sure when it happened but I
can see the Greek alphabet hand-drawn
on my bones. You are a skeleton
without a resting place and
I can’t find you anymore.