the gravesite on center road
by a.m.d.
the face I never gave you
will lie in every shadow and cloud
that you will never fear or fawn.
the clouds’ shapes remain nameless.
your shapelessness is permanent,
your namelessness is by design.
it was not supposed to be this way.
it was not supposed to be at all,
yet, it was.
yet, you were.
I cannot origami my way
out of this past tense.
time, they say, give it time.
I cannot let myself forget.
you will not die twice
as long as I'm alive.
the sunset pulsates in
my rearview mirror,
licks of fire engulfing
everything I robbed from you.
your nothingness has become my own;
an emptiness, a parasitic void
that makes shadow play
out of my sin.
this nothingness,
this emptiness;
who knew it could be so heavy?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am so sorry.
but sorrow doesn’t quite fit
into the shoes made for guilt.