Trying to Breathe
I used to know how to mourn.
I'd dye my hair black, get a new piercing,
brood like a dying poet, and the girls
would descend, wanting to heal me.
I wish I hadn't outgrown that.
Now there is sitting. I wear pain
as a fine garment, elegant, transient.
In the dawn I will be numb again,
going about the business of forgetting.
I look at loss and it stares back.
I try to breath it all in and exhale
peace and healing. My throat is a knot.
I can't inhale deeply and my heart
has stopped beating -- frozen muscle.
I can no longer pretend to pretend.
Everything comes undone . . . again
and again . . . I watch it all dissolve
and wish I could dissolve with it,
but here I sit, gasping for air.