You died on a Monday.
Nobody likes Mondays.
But this day was the first of the longest week there has ever been
or will ever be.
Days dragging their feet like my heart across the pavement.
Please save your questions, comments, and complaints,
I'm trying to wrap my head around dead dreams and saints
Wondering
how the faint cries echoing through my insides
sound
to strangers
and soulmates.
You died on a Tuesday.
Such an unassuming day for departing
Nothing happens on a Tuesday.
Until her phone rang,
We were parked outside of our favorite restaurant
I heard the world flatline to the sound of traffic
We stayed in the car.
Now parked on the roof of patient parking,
Though I had never felt less patient
wondering
How the ******* sun can shine when you can't even breathe.
I watched my mother cry until she wouldn't in front of you.
we COULDN'T in front of you.
I promised.
But we did.
You died on a Wednesday.
A day like a life, only halfway through and it's forgotten itself.
Like I had forgotten the heaviest my heart has ever felt
was the night I looked into my sisters eyes
and spoke like doctors,
Wore the words "there's nothing left to do" like they had ever even come close to answering the question
WHY?
Which was the only one she could get out
WHY?
They said he could have up to a year
WHY?
Or as little as a week.
You died on a Thursday.
The day so wrapped up in the promise of tomorrow,
we can only ever think about yesterday.
Throwback to any single moment before this day.
Throwback to 5 days before
watching the irony of a birthday cake in hospice
While I wondered
how many wishes it would take to keep you.
Throwback to the moment that we were alone
when you grabbed me by the collar,
So tight and so close
I could smell heaven on your breath,
As you squeezed a plea into a whisper
Get
Me
Out
Of Here.
I was silent.
But I swear to god I was screaming at the top of my heart.
And I am sorry every single day
that I had no way
to wheel, walk, or wish you out.
You died on a Friday.
I had never been further from TGIF-ing
I was busy wondering why
and begging for your breath back.
You hadn't said a word in days,
your eyelids hung heavy like sheets off an empty bed,
but when mom would whisper our names into your ear
I watched every ounce of strength you had
stand shoulder to shoulder
forcing your eyes open in bursts
like the fourth of july finale
we could hear from your bedroom.
You were a god in each goodbye,
While the blue drained from each your eyes
for us to paint our days with.
You died on a Saturday.
I thought the weekend had a deathwish
showing up like it belonged in our bereavement,
like this week would ever end,
like it hadn't heard the news.
Every night was a silent struggle
we couldn't stay,
but wouldn't go.
The night before we had collapsed into a pile on hard-backed chairs
At the mercy of the nurses who didn't have the heart to make us go,
or just enough
to let us stay.
I didn't sleep a wink that night,
I was busy listening to the human hum of our family set to the slowing beep of your vitals
and wondering,
if the grass you'll lie under will know where it came from.
But this night,
this night there was a quiet compliance
an air of understanding in our war-torn bodies
besides,
nothing happens after midnight.
Until my phone rang.
You died on a Sunday.
You were holier than any day of the year.
I don't know if you let go
or if dying always feels like drowning.
Drowning.
Like I was in every drop of water your skin couldn't hold in anymore.
Like my mother was in disbelief.
Like my grandmother was in desperation.
Like my sister was in sadness.
Our family
drowning
And not one of us moving.
You died every day that week,
and you've died every day since.
You died on her wedding day
and at my graduation
You die on your birthday
and on every anniversary
and every single day that we have to deal
with an absence so great that it deafens.
And all I can do is wonder,
what the time difference is in heaven,
and how many sleeps it will be before I see you again.
I wonder if the angels recognized you.
And how you hid your wings
so well
for so long.
But mostly I wonder,
if you wonder too.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
I didn't get to say goodbye.
Again.
Not in the way I wanted to.
Not in the way that made clear as the glass
you shattered,
that this
was temporary.
Not in the way that I could promise you that every firing neuron in that beautiful brain
lights up your eyes
like shooting stars.
You think like the sky.
Not in the way that came anywhere near answering WHY?
Not in the way that stitched every I love you on the tip of my tongue together
into so big a blanket
I could swear,
you would never feel cold.
Not in the way that apologizes for maps making miles into inches
that should only equal minutes
But you realize once you're in it,
wading through the hearts that could never find their way,
objects on maps are further than they appear.
Much like the face that i see in the mirror.
I wish I was there.
I wish you were here.
I hope you don't hate me
But I'm grateful to the sea.
For catching you gently
before rocking you to sleep
in the arms of a stranger
who in saving you,
saved me.
Like I am grateful to light
and time
and airbags
and the dark side of miracles.
I am not a religious person.
But if you dont believe in guardian angels,
then I have to believe in mine.
Because I,
sellfishly,
cannot lose you
one
more
time.
My heart knows my throat like the inside of it's cage
because that is where it found you,
where I find it when I sit
and I miss you,
warming the words I always said I'd say.
So until I do,
stay.
If it makes the space seem smaller,
I have written you so many unsent letters
that if I lay every word down end to end
I could build you a bridge
that wrapped three times around the moon
So we could at least pretend,
I'd see you soon.
A bridge,
strong enough to hold you
and the fifty tons of memories
that ware you like waves,
Crashing against your ribs
in a storm
Where no heart is safe.
I'm sorry you wake in sandy sheets
That no matter how high you climb
there's a beach at your feet.
But not a single broken piece of you
will ever be sand
no part of your spirit
was made from this land.
You are one hundred percent sky
spread between two precious hands
And I'm just a star,
who followed a bridge to the moon.
I'll see you soon.
I'll see you soon.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
You've destroyed me too many times
For me to allow you to poke through the rubble
Again.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
Her first words were poetry,
Painting passion into people
like every soul was a self-portrait titled
"Kindness".
As a child she gave each color words that they
could only ever scream,
She gave a voice that flowed like water,
A symphony of dreams.
She grew like fondness,
Towering above us at five foot everything
but forever looking up
like we were the night sky holding starlight in our eyelids
like secrets.
She waits.
Soaking in silence, still
Waiting.
Like the world is whispering
and she's trying to hear it.
Her own whisper floats like falling snow
that melts on your eyelashes
so that it might retrace the steps
of the last tear you cried
just in case,
It's not too late to catch it.
She is a million moments of lightness,
A thousand "I'm sorry's" for the wrongdoings of others.
She is one hundred sleepless nights
of someone else's nightmares,
Kept up with gallons of fresh-ground giving
wanting nothing in return but to know
She means it.
She's got big in her fingertips
like the sun setting and rising into itself,
Until it burns the whole sky down.
She is a quiet presence with an absence
that deafens.
Planting patience into moments
like flowers.
So that you can watch them grow
into a billion brilliant bulbs
of every miss you've ever made,
But were too scared to hope for.
She paints life onto the ordinary
until it knows that it was never anything
but beautiful.
Forever expanding the vocabulary
of the colors she breathed words into
in a children's coloring book
whose lines could Never keep her in.
While the whole world waits,
Just hoping to hear them.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
I used to be your morning.
Back stretched,
arms reaching,
asking the day its first question.
You always slept on the left side of the bed.
Our left.
My right, now.
But then.
And now,
My right has never felt more wrong.
Your eyes were always soft at sunrise.
Lids lifting like lungs and falling
like feathers.
You loved the smell of coffee
and the taste of special k.
Though I never understood why.
You never watched the news
because it was always
heart breaking
breaking news
news worthy
never worthy of your worry
so early in the morning.
I used to be your afternoons.
Your smile always felt like the summer,
when I met you.
You wore a white dress
and a warning label.
I wore heart stained sleeves
and a nervous smile.
I'm glad I didn't listen.
Most of the time.
You lived like flowers.
Toes planted in the grass,
always greener.
catching rain like a break,
light like your breath.
Impossible to keep
but never the less,
you were beautiful.
Beautiful in the way you took naps,
in the way you brushed your hair
while complaining it was too straight.
Beautiful in the way you would sway
To any music that I'd play,
I couldn't say it then but it's too late now
so,
stay.
Beautiful.
Always.
And in the way you'd get excited
when I would pick you up
but somehow, I let you down.
And I'm sorry.
Your eyes rivaled every sunset,
But the light always leaves with a promise,
you left with a suitcase.
I used to be your nighttime.
I sleep in the same spot that you left me in.
But wake up in the middle.
one arm outstretched,
hand hiding beneath your pillow.
our.
My. pillow.
My fingers are foolish,
still thinking they'll find you.
Like myself when in sleep.
How do you tell your memories to close their eyes
when you dream?
when the only world I am aware of
is the one that I've been keeping,
saving, holding, tending to
my mind is a garden,
growing dreams, still, for you.
I suppose one day,
I'll run out of seeds.
The soil will spoil,
I'll be knee deep in weeds.
But until then
every bud in my brain blooms in bed,
vines and fields of flowers
fill every inch of my head.
So long as I keep my eyes closed,
shades drawn,
room too dark to invite the dawn
that hits the fields like winter.
I used to be yours.
I don't know what you dream of now,
who slows you down when the world spins
faster than your stillness can stand,
how many times a day you find your hand
wandering to where I've been.
Though I tried hard not to say it,
I know that you knew.
I didn't mind how you felt,
but I always
loved
you.
All I have now are used to be's
to keep these,
my own hands,
hopeful.
Hoping.
That happiness finds you happy
and freedom finds me free.
But until they arrive
Every morning,
noon,
and night
I'll know nothing of you
And one thing of me,
we used to be,
I used to be.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
And in that moment
The world was wrapped around my heart
like a hug
Until the beat
became a hum
That sounded just like our song.
My fingers felt like feathers
at the end of a five foot wing span
that suddenly seemed boundless
as I reached towards forever
and you.
I bent my legs like the rules
to lean into the memories of you
I had promised not to keep.
I only ever wade in them,
It's not safe to go too deep.
My feet hung like dream catchers
Heavy with hope
that they might catch you
wandering the space between my eyelids
and the night sky.
My hands were nomads
tracing the maps on each your palms
trying to remember their way home.
You held worlds like water
and me.
Only ever taking sips
so your thirst stays hungry
while it drips
between fingers spread too wide
from wear.
I found god between your ankles
Shaking like shackles
as I kneeled.
We only spoke in whispers
every broken word was healed.
The world rocked
when you walked away
My arms spread wide
Like a plea to stay.
But your wrists were teathered
to a feathered dream
That wouldn't come true
Unless you left me,
unless I let you.
My eyes were crystal *****
watching you go
in the only way you knew how
over and over
again.
And in that moment,
I was a hurricane in your hands,
I was the ocean at your feet.
But you could only ever wade in me,
It wasn't safe to go to deep.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
All I could do
was all I had done.
I followed you
like the night,
chases after the sun.
I chased you
like a wave,
reaches out to the shore.
I reached you
like the end,
and can now do no more.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
My lips were still parted
as I walked heavy hearted
dragging my feet
like darkness,
across a dimly lit street.
I stopped 4 times.
Four times
between the security gates
and the bed
your scent still slept in.
1
You turned to walk away.
I couldn't breathe,
like my lungs had learned
your leaving.
I begged you to turn around,
in whispers,
through heaving.
I wondered if they had run me through
the x ray machine,
the way they did the rest of your baggage,
would they have been able to see it break me.
The rungs of my ribs
collapsing
under each step we took apart.
my heart sinking in my chest,
like treasure.
My hands clenched around each other
if not out of loneliness,
than in prayer
for you,
for yours.
(Walk)
2
I didn't know where I was going
at first,
I thought my moving, madness.
See?
You wouldn't really go.
I didn't make it to the elevator.
Nothing about me in that moment,
could fit into a box
I couldn't be brought down any further
I couldn't watch the doors close
on the only forever I ever had.
Too much symbolism will get to you like that.
The way I see you in
clocks and calendars,
still clinging to a countdown
your watch would stop short of.
I can still hear mine tick.
The way I smell you in
cocoa butter and ocean mist,
our love belonged on a beach
but swam too far from shore.
The way I taste you in
red wine and cigarettes,
I was drunk on your stare,
But you know those things will **** you.
The way I feel you in
poetry and panic,
praying into my palms
until my body felt holy.
Sometimes I write to your God.
(Take the stairs)
3
I'm outside.
The air is lit like a cigarette.
My body,
frayed
like a fuse.
Im bursting at the seems
of a skin that has never quite fit me.
Pounding on the doors of a mind
who can't remember
why?
I recalled every moment
you held forever in your eyelids,
then blinked.
When suddenly it hit me,
what if this time you really meant
goodbye?
I was trapped in wide open space.
Like the ones between my fingers.
like the one growing in my stomach,
like the one on the other side of the bed.
I guess I should have mentioned,
It would **** me if you left.
(walk)
4
I didn't leave a note this time.
But I promise
I had a million words to say to you,
I typed them up,
I wrote them down.
Watching each one
rise at my fingertips
and fall at your feet.
The way I did.
You spoke like family.
You felt like the pages
of my favorite book
when I ran my fingers up your spine.
I kept every note I wrote,
this time.
I couldn't hide another word
in the soft folds of your suitcase.
Secrets never travel well.
(Shhh)
I touched the door you'd touched before me.
Empty rooms are like a boxing ring,
My back was against the ropes
while my eyes fell to the drapes
tracking take-offs like ticket sales.
We packed the house.
Our home.
As time huffed and puffed
and blew the whole thing
down.
I stopped four times.
Each time I'd turn back
but when I started,
I'd remember the last time you left
while I watched, heavy hearted.
My lips were still parted.
Our lips were still parted.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
Your whisper sounds like
squealing tires
and tastes like motor oil
By the way.
My tongue is thick
with goodbyes
But that day,
You spoke like strangers.
The kind you find familiar
when they hold up signs
and out hands
while their eyes lie low
Building castles on the sidewalk,
Sand castles.
Waiting for the tide of feet,
too eager to mind the monarchy.
But take a quarter for your troubles.
"And track marks"
They think I'm thinking.
But I was busy wondering
If their god smelled
like burnt rubber.
And the last drop of cologne
In the bottle they nursed from.
I wondered if their god
could dance
with two left feet between fate
and fantasy.
And if there are ash trays in heaven.
I walk through their kingdom
like eggshells,
While you watched
Praying for an omelette.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
I remember it being cold that night.
It was the first time I had walked away
and worried I was leaving something.
It wasn't the kind of cold that
cut
and made itself at home in your bones.
It wasn't even the kind of cold
That strained every breath to feel like your last.
But I could feel the wind biting at and hanging from my ears
while it whispered.
But my mind was moving too fast to make memories,
It seems to never have the time anymore.
But it saves pictures
like polaroids.
Fast flashes of things passed
like whiplashes and mass stashes
of three picture days
of everything
and you.
Flash:
Legs around mine, light jeans, fluorescent lighting.
My heartbeat heats at the thought of it.
My back feels numb.
Flash:
Your smile in my headband, **** you're beautiful.
I think you threw your head back and laughed.
My arm tingles where you touched it.
Flash:
The sky was slate. Your eyes were asking me their first question.
I wished I had chalk.
But you already knew the answer.
I try to tell you now what you already were then,
But there aren't enough words in the world to tell you.
To tell you that your eyes looked like lifesavers.
To tell you that if I could,
I would develop my dreams at the nearest hour
drop shop and lay each frame out
like a quilt
and a collage.
(Because my mind is full
of a kind of mess that is never less
than warming.)
I would tell you that I hold your words under my tongue
To make sure they're always delivered warm.
And that if I leave them in there long enough
the fire starts.
My words melt into mercury
like ice in boiling water.
And I tell myself,
That if anyone really knew the heat,
They would stay the hell out of the kitchen.
But I made you something.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC