The Mourning After
Sunday night Apr. 8, 2001:
The night I slept in relative peace
foolishly, naively believing and
falsely assuming that all was well…
But then the morning after:
Though not the worst morning after
still the numbing, paralyzing morning after
the morning his voice seemed far away
as if it were an eerie, drug induced dream
the morning he regretted to inform...
(For a precious few weeks
one hibernates, wrapped up safely
in that protective cocoon
of sweet denial and disbelief)
No, the worst morning after came
after all had been said and done
after basking in the glow of sympathy
after the admiration of my iron will
after all returned to daily routines
after I found myself alone again…
Oh no, the worst morning after
was the morning I startled awake
to find that monster standing there
that monster who pointed at me
and told me the bitter, brutal truth
the awful and merciful truth of God
the truth that you are really gone
and are never, ever coming back…
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