Gone, like the sun at night
or summer snow.
They poke and prod me
with that ugly word.
Not with us anymore.
In a better place now ,
I hear them say, full of lies
and ready to spit at me,
forked tongues
like so many snakes.
It is everyone who says this to me now,
everyone who talks down to me,
a little each day, as though I have no clue
the only guarantee in life is death,
as though I never notice how the cemetery
gets a little more crowded each year
because where else would you put all that death?
Now I the words ping by my ear like bees.
I gag upon their syrupy condolences,
the spoon of honey crammed into my mouth,
disabling speech,
the scream trapped
in my brain, unable to process.
(Wake me up from this awful dream.)
Sick sleep, forever sleep,
much worse than any coma, you are
gone. They keep telling me so.
I watched you go,
float up, up, and away
just like a child's balloon.
I was the child. You slipped
and fumbled upward.
I strained my neck to look
as the sky swallowed you up,
until you were no more than a dot, then nothing at all.
Still, for what seemed like eternity and a half I stood there,
eyes
uncomprehending,
fingers
curled on air.
nothing. gone.