Sun Catcher

*CW: loss, grief

---

The last time I saw you cry,

it haunted me

even more than your icy,

ceiling-locked

stare of morphine

or knowing I had not

cared enough

about your confusing love

and too much

that you called me

by your sister’s name.

It was beautiful

all the same:

soothing water

glistening over

the rippled wrinkles

of your cheeks,

and you thrummed

gossamery harp strings.

Then, a little pond

of preconceived

grief gathered

in my palm,

clouding your river.

And the sun catcher

Mom stamped

to the window glass

on your last

birthday glistened

in a mosaic

of color brighter

than the stained glass

in the sanctuary of your

remembrance.

Closing

your door for the last

time was like forging

a dam between

a world with music

and one without it.

On the phone,

one hundred and ten

miles away,

the dam disintegrated

in my bathroom

between a hot iron

and an empty bottle

of melatonin.

Yet, the tap water

flowing over

the smooth porcelain

was like a careless lie

in the dimness

of that day.

The last time

I saw you

was some midsummer

morning

at the bus station,

where the local orchestra

plays.

Eyes sun-kissed,

reminiscent,

you were the light

glistening

in the

lachrymosity.

***

Hello, wanderer,

It took years to write about this. Please remember that it's okay to grieve slowly, with confusion, and even a little guilt. And when the glimmers of light come, hold them closely.

xoxo, for now,

-your friend

p.s. you might also like to read On the Wrong Feet: