Abby,
this is no apology,
I know.
I've never spoken your name out
loud,
only pen and ink
to make a voice...
but thats no restitution.
There is no letter
of grievence
against me, but I still grieve,
and that is
no
atonement.

Abby,
I still think of you,
in a hollow,
dismembered sort of way,
the way you think of
all those things
that never happened
but you are still sorry
that they never
did....
I still picture you,
in a succession of ages,
one, two, three,
birtdays pass
a day of mourning
that does not end when
the sun sets...

Abby,
I imagine you.
Brown hair, long and lovely,
cold and penetrating eyes
turned against me,
tearing through me,
accusing.
Sometimes you are still my
baby,
and sometimes
you are twenty,
tall and lanky
with a hatred,
you stunning bitch,
my Abby...

Abby,
I would have loved you.

02/25/2002

Posted on 02/25/2002
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