After he died I looked for him,
In every pocket of every season's coat
On teabags where he might have marked the flavor,
lists that dotted his journals, old toilet kits.
But his touch was gone
From the lids of jars, lightbulbs, furnace filters.
His breath was gone from the life raft
Replaced by mine.
Peggy Sturdivant lives with her daughter in Ballard.
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