poem for dolores

Poem For Dolores


The worst part of grieving

is waking up the next morning

and they’re still gone, your love,

your friend, your ambitions,

your ideals. And that still, in

the little house beside the stream,

in the penthouse looking down

into the the cities’ maw, in

the trailer that rattles in the wind,

still, you have to get up

and make fucking breakfast

and the breakfast tastes stupid

because breakfast is stupid,

more of the ubiquity of living,

it all happens here and most

of what happens isn’t worth a shit.


But really the worst part of grieving

is waking up weeks later

and forgetting that they’re still gone

and you’ve had breakfast

and read the paper

and are on your way to work

before you realize

your grief is slipping away

like everything else, back

into the stream,

into the city crumbling,

into the wind and all that the wind

carries away.