Sunday, May 10, 2015

Sunday, May 10th, 2015

when i die, i won't 
have a favorite color anymore
i'll no longer know the meaning 
of green
or if it's something i'm 
supposed to see, or smell, 
or press between my fingers
i won't remember this
hole in my chest
which is bigger than
all the things
i've ever known in the world
if they were stacked and 
spread out and 
multiplied against each other

i'll have forgotten my 
confusion about how, exactly, 
i was ever supposed to 
prop up that emptiness, lug it around
all my life and still be
expected to notice beauty, 
humor, softness, all the 
little things
i'll never know again
my failure to do so, my 
surety of that task's 

in death, there will be
no memory, as i now know it
no tiny limbs missing
from around my neck
no laughter quieted
no fine silky hair needing 
a brush
no miniature funeral dresses
no more visions of 
tiny death vests
no more dreams of a man
i am shocked and suddenly 
so very grateful to see again
none of that, no them
no me, no more
heavy sadness, no more
special days
no more the torture of 
my happy life, stolen, 
spent too quickly, nothing
in death, nothing, and
today of all days
i can't say i'm not 
ready, so ready
for that nonexistence
that absence of