A Year of Grief, Part Two: Heart

For the second part of this series, I offer a poetry duo exploring that often over-worn, still beating muscle that often acts as our compass and guide to knowing who we are.

For All the Moments I Wasn't Enough

Tonight I’m thinking of all the remembrances that will be missed,
How this misty rain is no substitute for tattooed arms
And how it lingers on my skin a little too long
Unlike the tears that fall fast and furious from my eyes
 
I’m contemplating stillness, and what it means
To be alone with myself, to cut through the clatter
Of doubt, nonsense, sadness, fears, and grief
How I’m building a monument to sorrow in my heart
 
I’ve laid out each brick, engraved
With every regret I can list, and some left blank
For that which escapes my memory,
For the interludes I would rather not remember
 
It will be fantastic, this enormous memorial carefully stacked
By my fists, stained crimson and marred
From all the sharp, whet words you
Threw my way on the nights without any clouds
 
All those perfect, starry nights when you absently forgot
That my heart, like my hands, silently bleeds your name

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Dissonance

These streets are so, so quiet

So still,
a motorcycle tire screams on asphalt
my dog’s paws echo in click-clacks along the concrete
there’s a whisper of the stray cat running
the sky yells in streaks of cotton candy
I eavesdrop on the business of ravens
 
This town is too silent
Your rooms so hollow, waiting
It’s all I can do
Not to die
Of a vacant heart