I look through the old dusty stacks
Of encyclopedia Britannica you left
Behind
Unabridged and unrevised
As outdated as these words meant for you
I’m searching for a thin volume of poetry
You wrote for my mother
When you were in high school
But all I can find are old tax returns and
Loan docs from all those cars you left to rust in the back yard
I don’t know
I know it won’t help with the loneliness
But maybe it will put it aside for a bit
To cry instead of feeling
The suffocating numbness of regret.

06/17/2013

Posted on 06/17/2013
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