The Clot Lodged and Time on my Side.

I'm washing my hair this morning

when it enters me

that memory that I've been avoiding for weeks.

On this day

two years ago

teetering on the edge of his grave

after those six good men and true

have laid him

tenderly 

in the slashed

 red earth.

So how can I still be here

crouched

dripping

on a horrid bedroom carpet,

with a clot

lodged in my 

chest,

so hard

so hollow

so razor sharp

I want to 

vomit?

In the end 

I howl my way out of it

till I can breathe

without 

hiccupping,

softening the edges of 

the clot 

so it can accompany me,

tenderly,

as I enter the cavern of my day

with dry hair

dry eyes,

and

time 

 on my side.

I found these photos still on his camera.

August 2007