A brief, but passionate inhale.
Who would have thought,
of the autumn in her eyes?

A sweet, delicate voice.
A beautiful sound to detect.
And never forget.
And never regret*.

The stud of a nose
Her own clothes and eloquent verbose
An unheard of strength
That she shrugs off like dirt.

And she knows of Dad.
Because she has been there too.
Not just for the smell of *****,
Or for the pain of just one bruise,
But for the depth behind
A clenched fist
and the struggle for eye contact.

It was 6 AM.
In the autumn.
And things just happen.
But see,
it wasn't just a thing.
It couldn't be.
The way I held your hair
And hid it safely behind your ear.
And accepted the kiss
That my fear could not initiate myself.

It was the blue,
And the blonde.
The black of the beanie,
And the spots of the sweater.
It was the look
and the smile
and the inhale.

And then
it was the stars.
And the stone wall.
And the Boston skyline.
It was the teasing.
and the alcohol
and the spot by the river.
And it was autumn in her eyes.

It was heaven in the trembling of my knees,
and in that kick in the shin,
and in the brownie brittle,
and in the passionate kiss in the room upstairs.
It was hell in the uncertainty.

And as the time will pass,
We will attract or repel.
Naturally.
And where this ambiguity chills me to the bone,
I find autumn in her eyes.

There is so much grief
between the four of us
that we drive to the clinic
in two separate cars

When we get there
my parents struggle
to lift the golden bundle of childhood
from the backseat

Her paws hit the pavement
and she is staggering
towards the little white dog
across the parking lot

She stops to breathe
             heavy breaths
             full of effort

Dad is the first to cry
holding her leash while
the rest of us hold our breath

We are crammed into a room
too small to comfortably support
all the woe between us

I am holding front paws
face pressed to fur
and the doctor asks me
if this is my first time
as if to imply

death gets easier
if you let loss become routine

she asks if we want to burn the bandana too

she uses two needles

Dad leaves the room
Trevor swears he can still see her chest moving
Mom's eyes red like embers
head heavy on my arms

When I get home
I use an entire bottle of shampoo
on Russell but

the white fur on his chin
doesn't wash away

drip drip
It falls to the floor
drip drip
The vulnerability that comes with opening the door
drip drip
Should it be sealed again
drip drip
Maybe

"Hey!?"
..!...
"Quit spacing out"
shakes blood from blade"

The human species
Is too wrapped up
In its own existence
To recognize
That each member
Is that same as all others
Living and dead

All of them
Laugh
See
Love
Feel
Think
Breathe

So why
Do we call it war
And not self-hate?

We didn't last forever;
the word attaches shackles
and chains that restrain,
and is better left unspoken--
never uttered, always locked
in the bars of my ribcage
where it restlessly remains
in utmost agony.

Then,
it stops.

The silence haunts me,
and my ribcage is imbalanced.
With laughter filled with tears,
and nonchalance juxtapose passion,
I whisper:

"Nothing lasts forever.
We fell apart like rose petals
amongst heavy storms."

The mask slips;
I avert my
red-rimmed eyes.

"But we could have--
oh darling,
we could have."