Hunger

The Long Years, Part III

Cold.
A cold tea is easier to
Drink than
A hot fresh one,

But it’s worse.

So I drink hot tea and
.              Remember:

Cody was 28 when he died,
leaving behind a small wake,
a ripple, a powerful force.

Cody left, painless, quickly
And I don’t not cry any more.
I am sensitive to the world,
Easily hurt.
Easily faked.
Easily recovered.
Hardy present to be,
Presently unseen
Hiding in the bathroom
Trying not to cry
Because I miss him.

One becomes adept at
Stifling sobs and
crying quietly,
Patiently waiting to hate
Hate having to do this,
Loving that you can.

I have plenty
of dead friends,
almost all of whom
have the un-
common decen-
cy to remain dead.
But Cody would
(wouldn’t he just)
find a way to echo
for longer.

Advertisements
This entry was published on December 29, 2012 at 20:37 and is filed under Poetry, The Long Years. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: