Tonight I noticed
I held my sadness in a starched duvet
and when I pulled it over my shoulder
it bled into my brain through the ear.
I breathed,
folded it up.
I needed the
vessel but
not quite so
I did the same to him.
The moment I identified
the sad, I cut it out of
me much like the way I saw
forensics decisively pick.
I cracked open my rib cage
and pulled his fragments,
his metals his earth, out
of my heart and closed our
17 months like a petri dish
saved for evidence. And it
doesn’t hurt any more.


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