I Talk to You – An Ode To The Dead Who Never Leave

I talk to you in verses. I talk to you in tears after a long day of laughs that still leaves me dry throat and gasping.

I talk to you in mid dream madness when I half-wake, conscious in a world where you’re just not there.

Weighed down, cages aching, I talk to you in salty sighs that heave up and recede, slapping a Tsunami on my soul like a storm with an eerie lurk, I cannot dodge. The sirens have been going off for eighty-four days today, and I stand waiting while this wave fights gravity just above me.

The seagulls screeching nervous echoes in the distance.

So I keep talking. I talk to you wholeheartedly confused. I missed you in a blink and my eyes still try to catch up with this haze you left me in. I fit you in places, everywhere, and then my mind beats me into bruises I can never explain.

I talk to you through others. In them I tramp for bits and pieces of you. Their words smell of you, and like a child of the streets, I pour them into water just to breathe them in. But then the fall is harder. . .Still I’m back for more.

I talk to you in silent seconds, in the quiet between notes when a song needs no words and the melody keeps me floating. In the adagio I can share a nothingness with you, so sweet.

And it goes on. So unending that it hurts. And the darkness keeps spreading, it twirls like a drop of ink on milk and it smokes all around me.

The path isn’t clear, destiny rattles against the concave cages of a year that has changed the geometry of my soul; so alien this new topography.

Things unsense. Things unmake. Things laced with a fear I had never known before. Nothing is familiar here. Nothing, but a twanging, bursting, hurling pain.

There. I talk to you there.