... addiction ..., ... anger ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... death ..., ... experimental ..., ... ghosts ..., ... heartsick ..., ... home ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... sad ..., ... the South ..., ... time ...

bereaved

at ten thousand feet
your bough broke (apart)
and you tumbled
to the ground below

two days before you left
you called me –
i saw your number
and just didn’t feel like

dealing with whatever.

(we both know that
i’m not a people person.)

i sent you to my voice mail instead
and you were in town
had been in town
wanted to get together
and would be leaving in two days

who knew you’d never come back?
who knew it’d be one of your last messages?
who knows why I didn’t answer?

i do. because i’m a selfish asshole.

i sent you to my voice mail
and now that is all i have.

Happy Birthday my dear friend.

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3 thoughts on “bereaved

  1. half full… half empty…. i’d choose half full….. the silence of forgiveness can bend the unbendable… I think there’s a song on the piano in there somewhere…please..!! can’t wait to hear it…. ms pie

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