the space between spaces

a poem about the static of grief

By Ashley LimaPublished 3 months ago • Updated 2 months ago • 1 min read

I’m still sitting

In the room where it happened.

The TV is on,

But I can’t hear it.

You’re still alive,

I can almost feel it—

When it’s late at night

And you’re haunting my dreams.

It’s this prickly feeling beneath the skin

That doesn’t quite have a name.

A waiting period.

A person to blame.

The shadows see them,

Even when they’re not moving.

The space between spaces.

The writing on the wall.

I’m not scared of losing,

But I am afraid of the fall.

So come a little closer,

And tell me what you said.

Because I’m still sitting vigil

Next to your death bed.

I think about writing more than I write, but call myself a writer as opposed to a thinker.

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