Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
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This poem is not going to pretend it knows what you're feeling.
You died in March. By April, tulips opened as if the ground had not heard.
Do not hand me a reason. Do not polish the silence. Do not tell me heaven needed
There's a word for the way your coffee cup still sits on the second shelf where no one else would put it—
I woke before you and did nothing about it. The radiator ticked. Your shoulder rose and fell.
My hands still set the table for two. Not every night—just Thursdays, when my hands forget
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