Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
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The first month, I kept calling. Not on purpose.
My father's chair still faces the window where he watched the street as if expecting a delivery
The strangest part is the ordinary: how the fridge still hums its one note, how the bills arrive
We took the same route. Past the mailbox you always had opinions about.
Mamá es la primera palabra que aprende la boca, y la última que olvida el cuerpo.
The first year after someone dies is a minefield of ordinary things. Their coffee mug. Their side of the bed.
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