...no words

honest and sharp. beautifully written. oh cry cry.

still
this morning i made you a cup of tea
and cleared the children's toys.
yesterday i played your favourite cd
and the neighbours complained of the noise.
-rachel adamson

this afternoon i made us both a sandwich
and then i made our bed.
next week i'll still be thinking of you,
and next week you'll still be dead.


casual grief
after you died
i fucked a lot.
fucked for the affirmation
of life, of desirability,
of pretending to be normal.

normal
raced away
without a backward glance
and left me by the roadside
an untouchable
out of bounds kind of girl
a casualty of fuck and run
bandaged with numbness.
sitting in the gutters of grief,
pretending
that every man who passed
nomadically through my bed,
loved me really.

but after sunset,
the cold space beside me
gnawing at my sleeplessness
my heart would ache
across the darkness
longing to be warm again.
-cate jacobs