Tag Archives: grief
Brilliance
He was mine, though he never knew it. His hands crafted worlds, fingers pulling them loose from the firmament, making webs between the bright lights of stars. He was a god, and didn’t know, weaving all the thoughts together, to … Continue reading
Lessons Learned
I’ve stayed away from the windows, when it’s dark and the lights are on. I’ve never let my lighter be lit for too long. I’ve never ordered the Chinese to come right to the house. I’ve never stayed in the … Continue reading
With Her Basket of Apples
She knew poetry from her lover, and could repeat it aloud, speaking of stars freshly hewn from the heavenscape, of the cosmic rain that washed her as she stood with her toes in the river, shy and yet unafraid. She … Continue reading
Still waiting
Wake up. Just wake up and come back, would you? I can hear you, when I’m sleeping. I can hear you when I dream. I can almost taste you, the kisses that weren’t ever ours. You’re not far, but it’s … Continue reading
What It’s Like
Something is rising up, a tide of sick that never crests at the throat, never crosses the tongue, is never allowed out. It swells and swells, a gorge that threatens but refuses to be purged. It lifts heavy chains, anxiety, … Continue reading