Under the Sod
You wake me—well your memory does anyway
on this restless night when the only noise I can hear
belongs to the morose voices occupying my headspace.
You wouldn’t want me to feel this way
but you’re not really here to end this misery.
You can’t fix me—and I wouldn’t want you to
because I’m already with you
nestled in your perished heart
your cold hand intertwined in mine
lying with my shadows suicide
under the sod.
Contest: Grief in 12 lines or less Poetry Contest (3rd place)
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Date Written: April 24, 2021
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2021
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