Grave By beyzayildirim77

beyzayildirim77@Deviant Art

After the funeral
I lied down,
Stretched to match
The dimensions
Of the coverlet
My body stowed
In your depressions
Like a runaway.
Whatever l knew
Of living gone.

Insistent as a banshee
My voice slate
My tongue a crooked nail
Your name a mantra
Hideous in visitation
But necessary.
It was not like you to be cruel
Yet everyday I expect
That I will issue
Another unanswered goodbye.

Why couldn’t you have died
In a less outrageous way?
Your death might have been
More believable, more traversable
But it was always like you
To make an event
And you really outdid
Yourself this time.

You forgot to take
Your cologne with you
It has impregnated
All the linens
I am afraid to wash
The pillow cases
Because then you’d
Really be gone.
Your stale ghost
Keeps me company
Holds fast like a leech
And I’ve too little blood
To perform any miracles
Too little blood
To complete my opus,
Too little blood to die.

I sat on the veranda today
Inside your sweater,
Reduced to a child
My hands retreating
Into the sleeves,
(It wasn’t even cold)
The weeds have grown
In your absence,
Their vicious roots
Strangling the azaleas
But all I can do is scream.