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May 29
by Meghan HelmichThe last time I was there I saw
nothing had changed.
The pocked roads still split the woods
and the houses swelled with breath.
Your body still curled
in that dip on your side of the bed
with dinner bubbling in the kitchen
and the oaks sinking deeper
into the red clay.
I told you that I could never come home
because the river has been whispering
to me since Matt died
alone in his car on the decaying banks.
I wasn't there and no one would ever get
the truth he left spattered on the upholstery.
They asked you if you wanted to keep the car
but it was too late. He had gone. 06/05/2012 Posted on 06/05/2012
Copyright © 2025 Meghan Helmich
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 06/06/12 at 12:46 AM A novel of any kind by you would shatter the bones, organs and soul of anyone who read it. I get that feeling just from bursts of creative, deeply compelling pieces like these. |
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