Heliotrope

it’s been a day, and he hasn’t been able to get out of bed—

the sound of her laugh still seeping through the white noise—

but his mother brings him coffee and stands in the doorway,

a frown between her eyes and upon her lips (she never liked her).

it’s been a week, and he made it through all the services—

the ones attended by friends, coworkers, distant family—

yet every time he closes his eyes, he can see her face

as if it’s just one big cosmic joke on him that she’s gone.

it’s been a month, and he goes back to work full-time—

though he still can’t stop the tears his coworkers try to ignore—

and it takes everything he has not to hide out in the bathroom,

breathing into a paper bag to stop the anxiety from winning.

it’s been three months, and he goes to her grave—

something that has become a habit in only weeks—

and his friends have stopped calling to check in,

though he can’t blame them for giving up on him.

it’s been six months, and the day is still a scar—

down to the minute, almost, that he got that first call—

but he has started going out for drinks after work,

maybe too much since he knows the bartender’s name.

it’s been a year, and his mother tries to arrange a date—

he sees a picture of a woman just a few years younger—

and he nearly shatters his phone because he’s so angry

just by the thought of replacing her far too soon.

it’s been two years, and he still drives by the cemetery—

not as much now, but still a persistent itch he scratches—

and then it’s off to the bar for another night of drinking,

the only thing that keeps his sleep blissfully free of her.

it’s been five years, and he’s forgotten her favorite food—

little things, so small, yet so essential to a person—

but he can still recall her voice and her smile and

every important nuance that made her her.

and then it’s been a decade, so fleeting, like a blink—

though now he’s ready not to be alone anymore—

but he still visits her grave every Sunday morning

just to let her know that she’s still his light in the dark.