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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