Empty Boats

Writing, writing, sitting in the bed (deck chair on the Titanic?), writing. Our mattress is concave, two shallow graves side by side, a small hump in the middle. Drew’s side is empty now, as it often is. I think he’s in Montana. Billings, or Butte. Someplace cold. Someplace not-here. To compensate I’ve covered his half of the bed with books and the cast-off clothes I wore today, my bra doing that weird empty thing with the cups all crumpled and sad. My headphones are over there. My e-reader....