3 Years
we buried you one day.
and it wasn't like in the movies
where it's raining
and the clouds are iron gray like my heart.
it was sunny--
so dry the earth was crunchy with broken bones.
I'd rather imagine that you left though.
that you simply decided one day that you were tired
(of me),
that I followed you barefoot around the house,
tugged on your shirt and whimpered
while you packed your life away,
leaving behind non-necessaries
(leaving behind me).
I've knitted myself so many dreams my fingers are scabs now,
yet too often I cry blood onto my pillow;
I write poems without endings
and remind myself how long I have "lived" underwater.
20,000 leagues under the sea
is an understatement.
the scratches on the inside of your coffin aren't from your fingertips
but mine.
nights like this I need to be born again.