i.

he is there
in a nightmare's dream;

standing like an apology,
his thin shoulders hunched
and rotting,
crumbling arms outstretched.

"don't"
I whisper
as he says my name

but he holds me
and I stand
in his decaying embrace-
the only thing
he has left
to offer.

I don't know who
speaks it first,
but I remember
"I love you."

then my eyes open
and he's gone.


ii.

the morning glows soft
and cold in his absence
but somehow still
Thanksgiving.

people enter
with pink cheeks
and warm skin.

my niece waves hello,
her tiny innocence seeing past
my damp and matted hair.

the death melts
from my smile.

I brush my hair
play with the baby
sit too close to everyone
pick at my food.

my sister stands to leave
early for work,
reaches for me.

her shoulders are strong
and real as she holds me.
she doesn't let go
until I am less pale.


iii.

long shadows
short hallway
ends here.

"Sensei, I keep feeling my father
behind me
all the time.
am I going crazy?"

his eyes break
a little
as he watches me.

"maybe you are,
but it won't last forever."

I want to tell him
that when the night
swallowed me whole
and spat me out sleepless,
when darkness sat perched
on my chest,
he was the only one I knew
was light enough
to chase it away.

I want to tell him
"don't ever leave me."

instead,
I hug him twice.
he understands.


iv.

memories.
I should not have these memories.

I should not be creeping
around my own house
like it might swallow me whole,
I should be doing my math.

if he died in November
but gave up
in May,
what percentage of himself
did he lose
(I lose)
each day?

I shake it off,
wrap myself in the last
warmth I can remember.

memories.


v.

the wind stops.

I didn't know
it was blowing
until it wasn't,
but the wind stops
as if in a void.

I look around.
all I see
is absence,
like vacuumed space.
the walls are closing.

I run to the man
that warned me about
the emptiness,
how it would find me
even if I didn't face it.

he sees the blackness
in my eyes,
catches me.

for the first time,
I stop holding myself together.
I stop fighting to survive,
because it's over.
it's over.

it's over.


vi.

voices cut through
the darkness.
my screams turn to laughter.

our happiness
bounces from smile to smile
knocking us all down
at once.

never before has joy
shaken me down
to my knees,
never before have I loved
being unable to breathe.

maybe this
is what people call
being a teenager;
Van Halen and spilled Coke
and unnecessarily
sexual jokes.

maybe this
is what people call
living.


vii.

plant skeletons
are everywhere.

tomatoes no one had time
to value are reduced
to dried flesh-sacks,
laying like hours wasted
wondering how he would
take his next breath,
wondering when he
would be reduced
to merely
flammable.

we gather the remnants
of last year
and burn them,
make something
we can blossom
out of.

new life will grow.
this year,
we will pick our tomatoes.