Thursday, November 1, 2007


You left the stove light on
before you went out.
I don’t blame you
because you never knew
you weren’t coming back.

And it’s okay,
because I turned it off
while I was waiting for you
to come home.
I waited
I waited until the next morning
when the paper hit the door
and the news hit my core.

You used to be a little flighty
and you read too many books.
You had this way about your dancing
and your head-tilt-back laugh.
You had the passion of a dreamer
and the wisdom of a doer
the vibrancy of a Jackson Pollock
and the fragile heart of a child
but we’ll all remember you
beautiful you
as the best kind of half-crazy—
unyielding in your attempts
to save the world
and all of us.

Now that those eyes will never open,
the shine has gone from everything.

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