laurawhiterivers

I am tired of having to understand the motivations of others who rarely stop to consider anything else.

All in line waiting to scrape away the pieces of my life.

Things mean more than people and the bonds between us are destroyed.

I’m so sorry about the destruction of your life and family, what are you doing to do with the equipment,  trucks,  guns, saws, tools? He was a great guy – can I borrow the trailer? 

I am not a store.

It was a towering cloud that curled up from a single event

became larger than I could ever have imagined

and collapsed upon itself

scouring everything to dust

as I became a shadow

trying to pull the pieces back around us.

The depth of this darkness is startling.
       Your voice is in every memory now
        And I can still see the blood dripping on the white sheet, smeared on my hand after I touched your face and kissed your closed eyes goodbye.

I think your face will be ever in my nights.
I will always see them crowded around you, white lighting creating dark shadows in the dirt.
I can sleep sometimes now. I’ve traded nights for the sunlight, but you sleep there too,  a lifeless expectancy.

There is no poetry tonight
      nothing to make others understand the depth of this silence, and my impatience with pity has made me impossible.

I hold our daughters often as they cry for you, my soulless eyes belie my tender voice.

I have less to say than I thought, less to feel than I should.

A dangerous silence has now settled in the vacuum,  coating the pain with a hardened loneliness that I cannot scratch. Nothing will touch it, nothing will fit but you.
And you are gone forever.