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.