Touching the Pain
Feeling Nothing
I am the girl whose brother died.
It is how they introduce me now.
It is the conversation they have in the next room…
a tragedy, so awful, how horrible.
The poor children, how are they?
Oh, too terrible, so awful.
And then me, an unexpected encounter,
Apologies pour from them and I have no umbrella,
Forgot my plastic boots, there was no time to shop.
But I have been manufactured, used, discarded.
I am in the landfill of loss.
My whiteness corroded by the filth which surrounds me,
Broken into pieces that can be shifted by the earth,
Pushed away and pulled by birds until there is simply, nothing.
So sorry, so sorry, and a nod.
Some reach out to touch me,
wonder if they can feel the nothing.
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