• and the flowers mark the tree stuck
    the white gravestones all exactly
    the same
    i remember i told you i loved cemeteries
    the peacefulness made me feel like i was all alone
    even though a thousand lay neatly in rows six feet under me.
    sometimes,
    when i can’t help myself
    i look at the headstones
    read the names picture the faces count the years
    some lives so short I wondered again why God
    takes children
    made me question if he really
    was so incredible
    eyes full of morning sun light
    heart full of regret
    why is the breeze so cold?
    and why doesn’t it rain anymore?
    you’d say it was because
    there were too many tears
    i’d ask whose crying
    it’ll rain once we’re happy again
    and the water will fall from the sky instead of my eyes
    then i’ll feel the warmth, the budding heat
    deep inside me like a building
    flame, flickering…
    maybe…
    but that was before
    you never were a good driver
    except this wasn’t your fault
    when the sun was creeping down the tree line
    like paint dribbling down a wall
    blue and red lights flashing
    the clouds drift in. A purple-black bruise above your cheek; the night sky without stars
    i hate this part
    when you don’t open your eyes…
    your bottle-green eyes…
    and i hate how you have the same white headstone
    as everybody else
    you were always so special to me
    every day I put the violets-your favorite- under the tree you hit. The bark is still ravaged. . .
    after you crossed three lanes and flipped three times
    three times the charm you always said
    i’m not laughing
    it still doesn’t rain
    and the days grow colder
    my eyes are full of morning sunlight
    my chest as hollow as if you took
    my beating heart with you