poetry from her grave

drizzled honey

Wake up in the morning.
Softly sift through my hair.
Wipe our tears off our faces—
It'll be okay

Clean up all our gashes
Rinse them thoroughly and
I'll have you dress mine.

We'll water the houseplants
And treat them with care.
You'll wash my back—
Pick out all of the glass
From the window that I fell from,
Into your arms.

You fell over, I'll
Clean your blood from the table
And the carpet and the counter and
I will mend your bones and
I will suture your wounds, darling.

Drizzled honey
On the wound,
sweetening
the sorrow