365 Poems – 129 Still Matter (Rough First Draft)
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,
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.