April Second


My being feels twisted. Emoting with any truth feels dredging,
sounds like an earthquake’s echo,
like you hear it and you don’t quite know what it is,
but it’s something real and it compels you.

Writing today feels like scraping words from my organs.

April 2nd is my parent’s anniversary.

It’s a day commemorating the love that partnered two souls on this earth for a brief moment.

When you breathe in and 30 years passes with an exhale, don’t you have to stop and wonder?
Don’t you have to contemplate
the complexities of life?
The possibilities of after?


How do we vow, ’til death do us part, and expect happily ever after?

Can spirits hold hands?

Without this day, there would be no I.

Thirty-eight years later, is there still a they?

Does death part?
Am I alone and left behind?
Why them? Why not me?
Why part?

Can they hear the soft jazz behind me?
Piano playing C minor – key resonates within and slightly below –
The key of blue.

I’d hear nothing had this day never come.

Can they hear me sing across the table?
Celebrating sweet reunion, bitter?
I’m tired of singing to empty chairs.

I’m tired of singing to empty chairs.

I’m tired.

Tired of crying tears filled with emptiness,
Tired of feeling too empty to cry,
Tired of asking the same questions, why
and how and what if
and do I

deserve this?

Should I say I do?

I do – I wish.
I do.

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