Jim Fowler

Another Night Without Her

Amber paces in front of the monitor. She meows that it’s supper time. I dump some food into her bowl, make myself something just as boring. The evening news anchor uses the same words as yesterday. My email in-box is still empty. I stand at the window and watch the dark claim the snowbank. My bed is cold and wide. At one o’clock I rise and stomp through the house. The furnace breaks the silence. The cat sleeps in my desk chair.

snow storm
her cell phone dumps me
to voice-mail