Two Years

June 12, 2014

You died on a Tuesday.

I spent eight years getting ready for it,
and it still caught me by surprise.

I was told that it was coming
weeks earlier,
then days earlier,
and I still wasn’t ready.

They told me it was happening hours earlier, that afternoon.
“She’s actively dying,” they said.
A fucked up adverb in front of a shitty verb.
The kind of thing that makes you jut your lower jaw forward because you should
have words coming out, but there are no words. You come up empty.

The phone rang around 10:45PM.
I answered it, knowing who it was,
and what they’d say.

They told me you had “expired” around ten minutes before.
Expired, like milk or something.
I don’t even like milk.

You’ve been gone two years.
I’m still not ready.

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