~burke

i.

there's nothing left of me

       nothing but the hush

& the burden I've become

to myself

       half-bent, half-broken

there's no way to pretend

it didn't happen like this

ii.

the mourning leaf gives its color

to the slipstream

like the slow yellowing of a bruise

as it fades

       the roses laid to rest

iii.

this is when I would write a poem

& title it I'm running out of metaphors

for the way I ache -

       for how I hoard my pain

               for how it bitters the heart

iv.

these hours belonging to death

clutter the wind

scatter a language of grief

its lack of symmetry

       undoing my breath

v.

my voice is kept inside the feathers 

of a pillow

I bring down the birds from 

their branches

to nest in my open wound

to touch what it means

to die

vi.

       & this is how I pray

splay dark ink on

a disrupted paper-sky

the gravity of its stars

guides my strokes

underlining the black edge

of night

       kneel here

where the moon curves

softly

vii.

grass is always greenest where we bury

our babies

in memory of my baby boys, Jason & JonThomas. mommy misses you.

mommy loves you.