this morning i drove the same winding roads i do every other morning
a small red cardinal flitted in front of my car and nearly fell victim to my low hanging bumpers
it’s been almost a year- since a childhood was terminated in the form of a phone call
it’s been twelve months and i mourn your life similarly I mourn my own
I’m in mourning for my life.
I’m not happy.
as i oscillate like a pendulum between waylaid youth and innocuous grief that results in impetuous epitaphs
I was drunk when I tearfully blubbered your eulogy
my sleeves wet with water from the tombstone and wine from the mini bar
I wish i could say the ceremony left me feeling as effusive as sitting on a park bench with you, while you read me the giving tree.
I rub circles with my thumb on the callused over skin of my elbow where your carpeted stairs burned tender flesh.
you patched me up with Neosporin and a prayer or two.
Yesterday the extended family received an apology in the form of an email from your husband.
He said and I quote he felt like a “duck in the middle of the desert without water” living in his retirement home.
Writing shitty poems about birds runs in my blood
the email read like dissemination or a surrender flag.
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