On Grief

i can see that day like it belonged to someone else

as distant as the television in the other room

another of those things that only happens to other people

as every day life continues the memories of that day are

like ghosts that left an imprint that will last for months

longer than your face and your laugh because

all i had left was pictures in

my mind

and in these blurry weeks

few pictures last long

but the ghosts of that day, the almost solid shadows: will stay with me

the way main street looked when

she closed the car door,

her face when she threw up her hands and let you go--

and how a street full of cars and people suddenly seemed empty

the way the clay felt in my hands and how hard it was

to focus on the chatter around and the sound of my

hand scraping against the pottery wheel--too dry

it needs more water, this bowl is going to break--

too late its broken.

when i walk past the park i see the three of us

each holding on to the parts of our lives that

touched yours and in the midst of those fierce thoughts

i can hear the mosquitoes buzzing in the grass

like static in the next room

i think that static will follow me around my whole life

and that day that i want to forget--to wipe from existence--

will always be a part of me now.

it’s the only way to hold on to you

and a way to remember that dreams are not

just things we wake up from

dreams are the people we love and those memories

that follow us into each day--the live we choose to live

and those people you have now that you can still hold on to

dreams are those parts of my life that i will live because you lived them

and the picture of your hands on the piano

as you lived your waking dreams

is one i will paint into my heart

and in these weeks that few pictures last in,

i will never let it go.