The White Elephant in the Room

Most mornings, I awake wearing last night’s dreams:

Amazon jungles, baseball stadiums, dance floors, high-rise hotels, banquet halls, treehouses.

In these dreams, I’m a sister, superhero, daughter, friend, widow.

But whenever I dream of Alberto, I am a wife:

Laughing together on our couch, half-naked.

Shutting his PR girl out of our hotel room so we can embrace.

Reaching for his goddaughter before we board a train.

When I wake from these dreams, it’s as if a reset button has been pressed.

My equilibrium, sense of self, even my brain chemistry feels altered.

A filled-up and as-if-I’m-whole feeling follows me into my day.

These are the mornings when I skip the shower.

So the sense of him will remain on my skin.

Linger in the rooms of our apartment a little longer.

Today, I skip the shower.