Thursday, February 22, 2007

December 15, 2006


I carry your memory in my heart
and your death certificate
in my bag.
The women in the hall are
talking about shopping
and I want to scream at them.
I do not want to hear about
their ordinary lives when mine
has been turned upside down.
They can not see these pictures
in my head or the angel standing
next to me, holding me up.
I reach for the memory of that sunny
day in California,
a fast convertible,
and you.
The elevator opens.
Move legs.
Their high heels click on the marble floor.
Hurry,
the sale ends at 10:00 p.m.!
I close my eyes and wish
the world would spin
the other
direction.

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