you went up in smoke
somewhere in valhalla
i'm here
exactly 916 miles away
wishing i had said anything to you
when i still had the chance
before i dug my nails
into the hard december soil
trying to find any trace
of the dust they said
you were returning to
if you're really going back
to that from which you came
i'll wait for you
in that house
on woodburn avenue
until your seventeen year old self
comes slipping drunk through
the front door
because at least you still have life to waste
in 1977
if there's a God
i wanna ask him
why your soul must've gotten confused
and fled your body 5 days
before they stopped the life support
i'd ask him why you had to leave
2 generations of women behind
2 parents who were forced
to survive their oldest daughter
a husband reeling
a brother, my father
i'd ask him why
the whole family's speaking without
consonants now
why suddenly we're all children
mourning your loss
in assortments of vowels
why nothing is as honest
or as lonely
as childhood
or death
in a grieving heart is an abundance of poetry.