And it’s so easy to miss the dead.
Romanticize their graspy hands
And desperate words with care, if you dare.
Watch their tiny twirly pretty worlds suck and pucker
Frozen photos filled with feelings.
He makes more sense buried, Dad told me.
But few things stay underground
Return frequently in mama water.
And bravery you recall for strength?
Juicier in their absence.
I feel the weight of my dead this rainy day.
The ones heading south for relief,
And a sister in the hospital dreaming of death.
Me breaking water way too much these days.
Words meant to cut chains, binding us to the nonexistent.
So far, so good.
In consideration of the one’s I’ve murdered,
It was time to die.
Kissing your bones was a pleasure.