Residual

The bed is too wide now.

I finally pulled the corners of the sheets

and saw the truth of the last six months

mapped out on the ticking.

A faint, salt-shaped map of a stain

where the heat of us stayed

longer than the actual people did.

I reached down to clear the lint

and felt a sharp, cold snag.

A silver earring, hooked in the weave

near the headboard,

holding on like a burr.

I held it in my palm until it got warm,

trying to remember the exact sound

of the breathing that put it there.