the grief that has grown roots
in my stomach winds its way
up behind my ribs with the
intention to bruise,
and lodges in my throat

fifteen years later,
and i still can’t say your
name out loud

so i cry into shaking hands,
instead, one over my face,
the other balled into a fist
that i bite down on

under the light of a cold
moon that is closer than you
are to me, i sob out all
the breath in my lungs

and it’s been so long,
my old friend,
that i can’t remember what i
said the last time i saw you

but i wish i had said more,
sat beside you a little longer,
lingered under your smile
like it was the sun after
so long in the rain

i wish you could see
what i’ve made of myself,
the tattoo on my right shoulder
i gripped so hard while tears
soaked into my pillowcase

and when you’re still gone
in the morning, gone where i
still can’t follow to the clearing at
the end of the path

i’ll brush myself off and
continue on,
until we meet again,
my old friend