Dear Johan
I carry you in pieces--
your blue eyes on bracelet baubles,
that blonde hair reflecting off Midwestern hay bales,
your voice in moments of radio songs.
But mostly I carry you
in the shocking seconds
when I'm overcome
by the hole in my heart
where your life belongs.
My Lutheran soul
can't learn the chorus to grief hymns
and I boil over
with tears,
double over
with pain
when I think of you
on that basement floor,
when I think of the machines
that kept you breathing
those two long days,
when I think of your hands
on my guitar
and the way you made me feel.
I'm sorry I never told you
that I loved you.
I was wrong.
Sarah
