sour breath

i still sleep

with the light on

in hopes it will travel through my ears

into my dreams

faster than the train did

the night your blood was too full of liquid confidence

for you not to

                             throw yourself in front of it

                          as if you were invincible.

i know i am supposed to be angry with you—

but is it wrong

that air does not feel any sweeter to me

without your sour breath?

is it wrong

to miss your smell of whiskey

because at least that meant

your heart

was still trying to clean out its wounds

was still trying to find a way to beat

around all the debris that

was telling you to

               throw yourself

           in front of a train.

the parts of me

that want to believe it was

an accident

wonder

                        did you even see the train?

                        was it just another collision to you?

                        where were you trying to go?

                        did you ever get there?

the parts of me

that knew you better

think

                      maybe it was one final exercise of control.

                      one last act of heroism;

                      the only way you could think to save     

                      yourself

                      and the world around you.

                      maybe the truth is

       you can not stop a    

                      falling star—

                      all you can do

                      is save everyone beneath it.

 

This poem is about: 
My family

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