absence becomes the overwhelming signifier–
a quiet, brooding environment
the clinking of china sets, the dissolved
lingering of cherry blossom spray punctuated
the span in between.
the span in between death and ‘she’s really gone,’
a phrase I’d like to spin around in her sewing machine
and patch it something new.
the period between closing the casket and opening the door
to a dulled memory,
that though sparks deeper pains frequently,
remains stored in another part of my heart.
the span in between the end of a world
and the entering of a sole one.
no way to escape and come back to her
wooden table and the stack of cards.
oft i can hear the chatter locked up
in the deepest parts of the house.
a house now deathly empty and frayed
at the edges. an empty echo of its
owner deceased, hollow, unwelcoming.
i can’t go back.
silence becomes the overwhelming signifier–
either it signifies dark days
or the peaceful
she won’t have to be silent above you now.