I could do nothing,
but doing nothing today would be the same as a melt down.
If I could melt down into my bed…
melt down its wooden leg and hide somewhere in the carpet, solidifying like a wax-monster.
I could hide in the shadows from what’s inside and out. Why is everything more visible in the dark?
All red, orange, throbbing inside. All screeching sirens and dreaded whispers.
I didn’t see the sirens…
That’s right. He died in a hospital bed. There were no sirens.
I wasn’t there to hold his hand..
I wiped his dust from my hands by a river bed I don’t know if I’ll ever see again.
I keep a bit of him in a necklace I rarely take off. I wonder what bone fragments I’ve gotten.
I wonder what of him I can keep.
I’ve stolen his hand gestures, and his guarded smile.