Tagged: grief

forty-three hours have

forty-three hours have
passed since we lost you. i hide
the details
from my-

self, don’t get too close to the
edges for fear of falling

remember that year

remember that year
when we lost so
many… was the
joy ever worth
the long
aches afterwards?
everyone tries
these words
in their mouths
many times before
spitting them out.
they’re unswallowable
by any muscles
so the human spirit
keeps taking the bait

on the seventh

on the seventh
anniversary of your
death, i announce
it the way one
notes it’s saturday,
close my heart
off for the rest
of the day, tune
in to everything
so there is no room
for the hunter

at the bookstore the

at the bookstore the
other day, i get down to
my knees and find myself
eye-level to a shelf
of books that scream
you. i pull off
a few volumes, open
to chance pages,
always looking for a
message, a sign to
your disappearance.
in one is a man
lighting up a
cigarette, in
another is someone
cursing, and in
a third, a
blank page, waiting
for the right
moment that will
no longer come

things we leave unsaid

things we leave unsaid
sprout tendrils, winding their way
around suitable

hosts, a cellular invasion,
a parasite of memory

some nights will hurt more

some nights will hurt more
than others – minutes will seem
miles apart, and the

second hand will catch your eye
in the dark, forget to tick

jared, twenty years

jared, twenty years
is a long time to know and
not know a person –

when my spirit finally
meets your spirit, let’s start over