Grieving

Seasons of crying

A friend weeps
listening to my story.
She leans over and
hugs an earlier me.

Tears interrupted.
Have I forsaken him?
Am I benumbed?

To ask these questions is
an oddness of mourning.

January Review.

Just about everything

I shall learn to give me
what I received from him.
Flowers. Confidence.
Protection. Sunny smiles
Sunsets. Sunrises.
And his whole being to love.

I shall learn to give me
just about everything.

January Review.

White Shadow

Predictably, I’m alone
waiting for a server
at yet another crowded
restaurant in Buenos Aires.

As if from nowhere,
phrases rain hard on
me tonight. In case
they bring meaning,
I scribble them down:

White shadow.
Perfume without aroma.
Elephant riding a butterfly.
Where are my dead loves?

The message is grim.

The doctor says I have been
awaiting an encounter with him
that will never happen.
That I’ve been endlessly
searching this city wanting
him beside me, now
at this too-big table.

The doctor says I’m refusing
to splinter shared into single
self. Shall I emerge whole,
divided but stronger?
Shall I flee this table out
into these wild city streets
or listen to the voices:
stay, order?

Amethyst Review, Volume 12, October 2020