Another year, another promise
to live, to love myself
for me, my love, and for you

Another year that I whisper:
twenty, she was just twenty
and there’s no sense
which is what scares me

Which is what I hold on to
when I dare think that life is more
than coincidental, than by chance

I am twenty-three, now, dear
and I see no reason still
why I live when you cannot

Don’t let them tell you grief fades:
it’s easier to live, to take a breath
than on the sun-bleached shore of Miami
when I said again: she was twenty

But I still don’t know the why
and I’ve still no faith to comfort me
I can just try to take care of my own body
and remember you still,


1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Emma

  1. The hairs on my arms are standing up. Nice work.

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