Wednesday, October 04, 2017

ON EVERY OCTOBER DAY

On every October day,
October slithers up
Behind my back.
She whispers at first,
Barely audible,
“Jeremy’s dead.”
I stop.
I turn.
I die.
I cry.
My shoulders drop.
My breath comes
To a sudden stop.
I clamp my eyes 
tight,
Wishing 
with all my might,
That I could just fight
The urge to scream
And kick
At anything,
Anything,
Anything that could stop
The bite,
The fright,
The blinding light,
That illuminates the fact
That our son is dead.
Dead.
Dead.
On this October day,
As on every October day
I cry,
I hurt,
I die,
On every October day.

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