Incinerated by Susan Isla Tepper

When you first left

I ran to the top

of the house 

tore open the window 

looked out 

over the tree line.

The trees were shivering.

I thought about searching

everywhere.

You can’t be located

on any map—

for me your body

has become incinerated—

It’s hard to remember

to pretend.

My lips squeezed shut

a rush of words

too cold to swallow.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres. Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.