365 Poems – 129 Still Matter (Rough First Draft)

Still Matter

I must leave now, my skeleton intact.

The cold floor feels like flesh.

My ticking heart interrupts

this worst kind of silence.

What started as a brilliant dawn

is  now a dream, far away.

 

I must leave this place where you

came out like a bullet, and for a moment,

were utterly perfect, until I realised

you were but warm, still matter.

Your soft shell was split like a fig,

but you remained unmoving.

 

I need to put on my sensible shoes,

prepare for a waterfall of arguments

and unanswered phone calls,  letters,

cards, gift baskets, wreaths, flowers,

chocolates.

 

I imagined you would smell like a marshmallow,

and I would always be left with a sweet taste

in my mouth whenever I kissed you.

 

I imagined, that when you were old enough,

you would use a violet crayon to draw me

a picture of a wolf.

 

They have said I can take my time,

but I’m outside now. There are holes

in the sky where stars used to be.

 

 

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