Susan

I google your name.
Counterfeit Susans appear:
gym coaches, sopranos, college deans.

The qualifier “artist”
doesn’t bring your bio to light,
nor does adding “deceased.”

You ghosted me when I forgot
our date and left you at the restaurant.
I lost my place in the picture.

Orange smoggy sunsets,
Black scaffolds around ageing hotels.
Cityscapes that won awards.

I retain them
though the internet does not.
My memory is the museum you wanted.

Regret colors everything
like ageing varnish.
I let you go. I gave your art away.

Chris Bullard, a native of Jacksonville, Florida, has published twelve books of poetry. He lives in Philadelphia, where he is currently in hospice care for lung disease.