I told her about what he did.

Because she doesn't know about my poetry

But you do. I think.
So where is your excuse for your surprise?
Oh, wait, here it is:
You don't read this.

I didn't look at her.

I just looked at the curled tissue in my sweaty palms.

Then she asked me what my sadness feels like.

It feels like I'm drowning,

but can see everyone else breathing.

What is making me drown?

All this weight

that I'm holding onto

thats holding onto me.

What is the heaviest thing forcing you to hold its hand?

Losing mom.

You mean the mom you never had in the first place?

Yeah, that one.

The one who was never in the crowd

when it was Mother's Day and the class was singing?

Yeah, that one.  

The one you remember searching for?

The one who you were never good enough for?

But at least she never said it like dad said it.

The one whose memory is one without you in it?

Her, doing something else:

Reading the paper on the couch,

Curling her hair,

Asking why I got a "B" and not an "A"

The one that saved you from

literally drowning at the community pool?

Yeah, that one.

How can you mourn the loss of someone you never had?

Easy, I do it every ******* day.

When will this end?

I can see the pin-***** of light ahead

the cement used to be wet sludge

and now it seems to have dried

up to my waist.