1 minute read
The Thief
The Thief Bob Meszaros
You stayed while we were gone, taking milk from the refrigerator, parting your dark hair with my comb.
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On a Sunday evening in November in nineteen sixty-six, you made our kitchen table and the bathroom sink your own.
And when your hair was parted and the milk was gone, you took the quarters from the coffee cup and packed our wedding gifts and winter clothing.
You left the front door always open and each lamp light on.
