Tuesday, June 21, 2016

when his fingers reached from across the miles

when his fingers reached from across the miles,
the wind picked up and howled
in the great expanse of an in-land sea,
raged on and on: the cacophony, the fury,
but leaving me be --

in the dark i listened for the cicadas.
i slept for a day afterwards.

when i finally come to,
still undead, though mostly dead,
and crying, bleeding,
you come all noisy, cheerful,
wanting to know who died.

i say "i did".

i tell you what i can about him,
how things were tough,
how things were wrong,
how bad and wrong i was,
what pain felt like,
how days and nights,
i could not see nor feel.

i gush.

"i was married when i was your age",
i say. a trigger -- the past is here still:
been there, done that.
what else is there?

"he'll be happy when i'm dead.
and honestly, me, too."

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