I put on the locket
that I bought when my parents nearly divorced
and mourned you
although you had not died
I don’t rank the people I’ve lost
they’re just an archipelago of scars in my mind
In no particular order:
There’s K, the former stripper and aerialist
full of storms and fighting wit and pain
O, wry and small and deep-voiced
with beautiful insincere eyes
A different K, her fragrant hair like a summer storm
and shifting brown eyes
and heady cigarette kisses, her grey halo
T and L, a milkmaid and a fairy tale princess
one a competitor and one
a lost love
S, with hard firm eyes and
strong opinions;
tea, and tobacco, and a warm laugh
Some were friends, some were lovers—
or something like it—
I haven’t counted every fallen robin
(to steal from a better poet)
but the strafes and near misses score my heart anyway
And now my regard and respect for you
adds a headstone to the rows
perhaps I should have known better, but
whisper networks are like telegrams were; they travel fast
but sometimes, not fast enough
and when you need them, they’re too late
So the things that other people knew before
are things that I’m only learning now
If I’d known them then, would I ever have
seen the magic in your words
or just the plywood and glue and nails and paint
of hollow setpieces
Burning it all wouldn’t scour your fingerprints from my clay
I guess I’ll forever have to say “good art, bad person”
but now I wonder how good the art really was in the first place
All the awards in the literary world
don’t add up to therapy
(and on its own, therapy
Is not always good, or enough)
I don’t need for the people I love and admire
to be perfect
or even to know who I am
But I wish I’d trusted the madwoman in the attic
because you made your father’s mistake
and I guess it
Runs in the Family
I have my own stories and poems to write
and a beautiful new child to attend to
and beloveds
and friends
and an art collective
and an online community
and an immense, overflowing stack of books to read
by people that aren’t you
but the people I’ve lost pull me back to
grey and ashes and sepia
and sometimes, it’s important
to count what has been lost.
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