The strangest thing was that I wanted to
sit on your grave, as I once would have
on your knee, even though I was much too long
much too heavy
much too old
I wanted to curl up against the gravel, with
the soft fringe of grass tickling
my skin and let the red earth stain
my white shirt in an effort to
feel near you.

The hardest thing is that I want to
go back now and never leave, to live
all my days with you on your quiet hill,
keeping company with old griefs and
letting new breezes caress my bones and
telling you of all the things I’m trying so hard
to do, and not actually
doing any of them


One thought on “Visiting

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