When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.
You’ve forgotten the names of your homemade saintswho crowd in the dark behind your thin lids.In the veil you’ve drawn betweenHere and Not Here, they...
*With gratitude to all who contributed to this crowd-sourced list poem following my social media inquiry
I’m so sorry that happened to you.It makes sense...
