About 13 months
since the thunderstorm took you
since the drumming beetle foretold your death
I cursed and mourned and cried and now
I mostly pretend I’m over it
I do stuff.
Like throwing away these things that you owned
wiping the dust off the cupboards
that used to be flakes of your skin
Physical remainders still of you
now finally and definitely gone.
Time does not fucking stand still.
The rooms look bright, fresh and clean
fruits hang where you planted shrubs and trees
Over the horizon, the bombs continue to drop
a world full of things I’m glad you don’t need to see
And my tears dry way too quickly
in the searing summer heat.
❣️
<3