In the bones

Most times I try to hide it under my grief

but when I think of how eleven years pass

and how scientifically the skin and body

becomes all bones and maggots, this

freaks the fuck out of me. I think

of how his skin once touched mine and

how his love made me feel completely

human. Most days, I struggle to get

out of bed and feed my medical

condition. I hate the daylight

it sucks up my dreams. I hate the night

time, it eats up my worries. I hate

locks, they control me. I know how

my mind works under this umbrella,

it takes hold of all my bones

and caresses them while I’m alive.

You are not scared of death

he had told me, while lying there

dying from a freaky accident

that he should have never

even had. It was my fault,

I wanted him to get me

a burger and fries at eleven at night

on a slippery Montreal night

and the police officer said

all the things you don’t want

to hear, while waiting for

your husband and the food

and the love he will bring.

Death has holes.

The funeral was a blur

as are the memories now

and the sound of his voice

which I have long

forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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