a waterfall– i thought it would egress, this guilt
doesn’t throw daggers or smash
concrete concaves. it nibbles,
fasting slowly on frayed nerves.
quiet has a funny way of stealing me back
to the way I’ve pretended to ignore your mail
which for some fucked up reason
still won’t stop forwarding here
the way i misunderstood
how frail you were
when your eyes locked with mine
and you apologized
for living through death.
the way you never missed a birthday
and wrote me notes 4 times a year—-;
sometimes i brush dusty books off the shelf
and feel close to your soul
i try to find words that can make sense of this,
of you and myself
but all i can remember is the last time we looked at each other
i handed you cheap flowers
and left to go do my homework.
your viewing came one week later
i didn’t want to attend
your face ashen and beautiful
a trembling work of art
quickly folding to fog for two years.
but then comes your letter;
alive and unread
lost from 2008 behind a shelf.
mice morph to rats.
teeth clench vaulted tears;