Body in Water

My memories remaining young

while my body decays,

-

the beginnings of pains,

-

my bloodied fingertips

carrying your sharpest words.

-

The waters ate

your body today,

your slow death over, no victory

as the war ended.

‘the drying of a rose’.

My tears fed the sand beneath

my bruised feet

in lust or alone,

expectations tempered, the body steeled,

-

the brain still raw,

-

the images of you moving through the room

your shouts and insults, the flowers on your grave,

the need for therapy refused and ignored, self isolating.

-

Your curse

still remains

and it is strong,

-

its tendrils hold me on cold nights,

sees me refuse food, sees me stashing every penny

(as though that makes a difference),

sees me nearing burnout, white knuckles

burning flesh,

-

the pain is still fresh, unknown feelings

still stick to my heart like

icicles, no power, no power,

a perfected image, we hid your sins

but can’t absolve them.

-

They return by night

and I pray for the re-emergence

of that murky sunlight to melt them all away.

-

Your grave sits still,

your memories still fresh faced, reborn daily

your skeleton at a healthy distance

but I still ask them all to move out of my way,

-

I still cannot embrace

for fear of spreading

what you carried, what you taught me,

your outlook on this world,

-

my body a collection of the largest pains,

of what could have been, of bloodied limbs and

ghosts,

the scars marking the way

to a series of flashing lights

the longest hallway.