As they pushed you into the chamber and you
Became potpourri in a moody box,
Cinched with a bread twist tie,
Determined to be scattered gloriously at sea,
Every grain that was left of you, I
Filled a ziplock with tablespoons of you for myself.
Gave so many smiles and hugs, you'd think I was
Holding a party instead of a memorial.
I look like you, they told me.
Just so tragic. You were always so full of life. Like
Kennedy in Dallas, it's all firsthand accounts,
Lives touched by your parade route and sudden
Moment of escape, your Houdini moves into a
Neverending story, where the window reads backwards:
-NEPO- !ni emoC, and I still hide in the corner.

Plane takes me home, and I carry you in a silk bag,
Quietly screaming for the world to stop turning,
Requesting a reprieve from this absence,
Seeing the aloof faces around me and grinding my
Teeth on the drive home because there's no one to
Utter my devastation to, in soft tones or a loud
Vacuum that I've been living in since the trauma
Ward. The last place I felt safe. Swimming in
Xanax and Klonopin dreams, benzo island.
You can still call me there. I can still hear your
Zigzag papers crinkling between your fingers.

09/17/2016

Posted on 09/18/2017
Copyright © 2024 Meghan Helmich