My Lost Lady Poem by R.A. Burleigh

I search for you everywhere
In small towns and markets
In old photos in the box near my bed

I called old phone numbers
But you never answered
And I was told 'she is not there'

Are you angry, dead
Or just tired of my passion
Dearest heart

Dearest laughter from across
Any room, any field
I can see you still

You are always orange
Always near children, bending
Yours, mine, violent, withdrawn

You are reaching for children to tell
Them you will protect and nurse them
As I am reaching and telling you