She bid us farewell some Sunday’s ago and life has been surreal ever since
Sunday’s have a stigma now that sting me upon every awake
She lives in memories and dreams
and it seems unfair that even there
she is too distant,
far too removed from my touch or my teeth—
I can’t feel her or taste her with any words…so I bite
She is becoming a collection of vagaries
my mind can’t seem to park on one main thing concerning her—
her shaved head, freckled face or turquoise finger nails
She is all smiles in my intentional reveries
but there are moments when my mind’s eye recalls
her decadence and misery
It was hurtful to watch her slip slow into a solemn slumber
But peace was upon her when I last saw her body
at rest
empty of her personality,
void of her struggle,
expired from her pain,
a mere husk of stolen vitality
It was cancer that snatched her from me,
from sunrises at arm’s reach, from downtowns and beaches,
from sisters’ night out and patient privileges
from human love and familiy
It was cancer that took her victory
Leaving us with only her name on our lips
convincing ourselves if we pretend long enough
the missing of her will disintegrate into our fabrics
but never seep through our skin
when the wretched truth is
we are concaved
searching for meaning in our own living
meaning to live in our mourning
looking for joy to remove our weeping
when remembering stops hurting
and Sunday morning’s are just another day to pray
erm…It is Well
#RememberingMickie