Saturday, November 29, 2014

the best way out is always through.


I am in the middle of dialing your number
when I realize the dial tone is mocking me.
I hit ‘end’ without skipping a beat, something
bigger and harder than a lump sitting in my
throat. It’s been raining for four days straight
and I can’t be bothered to bring an umbrella
with me. You loved the rain, would suffer a
fever for it, would probably buy it flowers on
Valentine’s Day if you could. I want to feel so
much that I want it to overwhelm me. I want
to short circuit feeling.

I can’t delete your number. Umbrellas are
alien things. Your funeral is a song I can’t
stop singing. Your mother looked prettiest
when she was in her mourning best. Your
sister didn’t let go of her boyfriend’s hand.
You said once, not to me, overuse ‘I love
you’. It has not stopped raining. I don’t go
anywhere without thinking of you. You
haunt my bones and the space just beneath
my skin. I am a vacant house, boarded up,
for sale. The floors creak. The wind gets in.

Everywhere, your ghost.
—Kristina Hayes