Thursday, August 16, 2012


Every day she visits him
At the cemetery she weeps at his grave
Touches her lips and presses
Her fingers to the tombstone

When we make love he may
Give us some room in our bed
But so quickly he takes it back
He is her last thought and first

Death is bigger than me
I cannot hope to be more than who I am
So I choose to live with her and him
Hoping time will diminish his spectre

The young man who called her mama
Towered so tall he had to duck under doors
I wish I could have known you
Now I only know you as loss and death

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