Amalie Wissing 

Today I took my friends to
the airport. Coming back home,
a place to live in at least
with three or five of them,
alone and tired,
beaten by the sudden
emptiness, I start working
to fill the air with noises,
clean the table, take dishes
to the kitchen, crunches
fallen on the floor during
breakfast, crisp under my feet.
While I have the rest of some
cold coffee that´s left, I look
around and see flowers they
brought me one day, when the sun
was not shining as much
as I expected.
I empty the ashtray and
remember the words of our
late talk last night, then change the
order of chairs around the
table. And I know nothing
will be in order then, but
I'm ok, because today
I took my friends to the airport.