In memory of Sara Galit, my friend.

Things the dead miss
sleep, but so do I
good food, rich, creamy, *****,
a breeze
the glint of winter
the burst of speed and elation coursing through as you near the end of your lap
laughter
comfort
softness
love

Things the dead do not miss
Guilt. Guilt that keeps me up at night. Telling myself repeatedly,
failure. loser. worthless.
Mistakes. they are frozen. I constantly make new ones.
Loss. They have no concept of gone.
Taking breaths of burden.
Release, even that of pain.

Let’s say the human experience the yin
and the yang of beauty and
pain, is a blessing of growth.
miracles ever producing through
the new. even at rock bottom, you’re
still moving. I compare
myself to the dead. my past a culmination
of deed and choice. and I ask, if I were
in their place, would my life be worth it?
These are things the dead miss,
but I’d like a break, too. Even
from the sun. It’s burning through the
clarity of all my flaws.