By Valarie Jonas

Like the sleep of dresses on warm bodies of women
your room quietly folds around your absence
awaiting your return. The bat, the scarred glove,
board game pieces toppled to the floor,
a book tucked inside the bunk bed's rib,
and flashlight hidden beneath a pillow
that still holds the shape of your crown.
Your dog curled into himself -- head to tail
like a rich red fur collar --
keeps watch over this small country.

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The line, "like the sleep of dresses on warm bodies of women" is taken from Mark Strand's poem "The Room."

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