i saw him… [revised]
i am envious of the lens that saw him moments before he died–
he smiled. kids rolled down hills, their screams were the things of dreams…
i tumble and feel wet grass, growing around his gravestone, a place that marks
the letter sealed inside. words eaten long ago by worms–scorched on a sidewalk,
split in half for the world to see what’s inside him and inside me.
nothing feels right
until i watch this tape.
i can’t be sure how many times i have been half expecting to see him
turn a corner.
instead he floats further down river…
i never saw him, i wasn’t there when they pulled him from underneath a bridge
after days of searching and seeing dated photographs
on the channel 7 news. i didn’t see his smile, we never kissed at all…
a picture someone gave me after your funeral makes my fiance jealous,
jealous of bones and a seven-year-old-conversation late in to the night
one summer i spent the night at home alone.
