This poem is hard to share. I almost cry every time I read over it.
My next book was difficult to write. It was smashing the broken pieces of my heart. I wrote so many poems the day I found out he was gone. I wrote so many poems in the days and weeks and years since he’s been gone. He was the loss that rocked me harder than anything else.
I loved him deeply and realized it far too late. I kept him at a distance because I loved him and couldn't bear to lose him. In the end, I lost him all the same and hurt all the same.
Love. Love deeply and fiercely and with bravery. Trust me, it is always worth it.
Thank you again to Death’s Dormant Daughter for understanding this grief and publishing this piece.
I don’t remember the last time
We locked eyes, your blue
Coming to meet my green -
I don’t know if it was when you
Were last framed by my thighs,
Maybe when I saw you across the colosseum
The day your brother graduated,
Or the first — and last — time I lied to you,
Screaming I hate you, or at least
The lack of having you.
I refuse to count when I stared
At the picture of you in the paper,
Bore a hole in the table
After the first hour,
Still not fully understanding
The same six sentences.
Are you looking after me?