Such numbness such silence
As I sit upon your chair,
Surrounded by your stuff
All packed up in boxes.
What can I say?
How do I speak?
Are you listening to me?
I beg you hear my lament
For how I loved you so
And how, how could you go?
And yet I hear not,
Not but the sound of voices
Upstairs, and my own thoughts
Driving me into the dark.
All your stuff, packed up in boxes
The morning before your end
Like somehow we knew of God’s
Plan and knew you would leave
Even if we did not comprehend.
Oh heavens, how appropriate!
How horribly strange, a hateful
Coincidence. ALL your stuff,
Packed up in boxes, and you,
You …packed up in a box as well.