The Eve of Mourning

Nights like these it seems

The frigid air could break 

Your ribs like corset bones

Ashes to ashes, 

Dust to dust. 


We drip and flicker like pale candles;

Suppressing grief 'neath coughs and 

Icebreaker lipgloss,

You sound so old when you say "darling,"

I feel too young with this surreptitious 

Wiping my eyes on my girly blue blouse

That cuts at the shoulders.


Awash in heaven's solicitude, 

Sometimes Catholicism's a habit, an accent I slip back into 

When I think about angels and stained glass.

Please stop trying to warm your hands in mine as 

Cold as marble,

My tears will be ill-timed. 

The End

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