The Blank Side

Six hundred pages of a dead man’s life

lying heavy and warm in my lap.

I followed him through the wars and the wives,

all the way to the final, quiet collapse.

I turned the last leaf of paper tonight

expecting a summary or a final grace.

But the story just ended in the middle of the light,

leaving me staring at a vast, empty space.

There’s a smudge of my thumb on the bottom right,

a gray mark on the stark, unprinted white.

Just the publisher’s address in a tiny font

and the sudden, cold weight of everything I want.