Missing

(Pre-Script: This poem pairs best with the song, "Keep Breathing," #62 on the playlist, so go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

If missing things was easy,
then we'd all handle it well;
we'd all behave properly at every moment
and never lose our grip on ourselves every once in awhile
and never cry or fall on the floor
in a pathetic mess of body heaving sobs and sniffles
we would never ever do that
and not doing that would be the most natural thing in the world
if missing things was easy
then I would not be compelled to look at the clock
and the calendar
so often
or turn off the radio when the song is explaining exactly how it feels
and I am not yet ready to feel so directly.

If leaving were easy,
my feet would not ache
from the steps you took the other direction
when you had to go
somewhere you had to be
that was not right here in this spot
next to my feet
where they stood and took up residence on this earth
just another moment before

If grieving were easy,
my hands would always stay open
would never tend to clench and cling
like a coiled up dead fruit that never dropped from the tree
when it should have released itself
and I could let go of even the smallest things
and even the biggest things.

(and when i talk about missing, it is like
missing an arm or a leg
where it is gone, but I can still feel it,
or
a vertebrae in my spine

deep beneath skin and muscle

to help me stand taller,
and to hold up the core of who I am,
or
a rib in my ribcage, so strong,
the keeper of the place where I breathe,
and the place where I bleed-
my lungs and my heart.)

-XOXO,