On This Day
12 years ago
my dad danced with me
for the first and last time
before giving me away
11 months ago
an oven reduced him to ash
an entire life in less than a shoebox
10 days ago
I began my first new year
that won’t include him
9 hours ago
Facebook showed me a memory
of my dad walking me down the aisle
8 minutes ago
I didn’t suspect I’d spend
my anniversary sobbing
and yet, here we are.
I Need a Minute
I am not ready to explain to my son
why I’m crying, so I lock myself
in the bathroom and fill the tub
with the hottest water I can stand
let my skin redden and nearly
burn. I am not ready to speak
the word that will make this grief
real. I am tired of my friends
sacrificing pounds of flesh
to operating rooms just for cancer
to chew new holes in them. I wonder
how many tears it will take for me
to float. The Dead Sea has a salinity
of almost thirty four percent. I make
a mournful buoy—hold my breath
as my head sinks to the bottom,
not yet ready to fill my lungs with air.
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