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.