Wednesday, October 14, 2009


The grief is sticky
Clinging to my bones and blood

There is no simile left
It is nothing
That has ever existed
Inside of me

What’s wrong?
She asks


My mother is dead

The words are stuck
In the tendrils
Beneath my voice

I am alone

As never before
Barren of that nebulous thing
She can no longer give

No words are worthy
Of this

I am missing.