This grief is wordless.
I open my mouth.
Close it.
I am a fish, bashing itself on the ground for air.
Your spasm-limbs besiege me.
Again.
And again.
And again.
On loop on the insides of my eyes, those sick-lids that keep you caught, writhing, unable to catch the downwave tear-torrent.
I should have held you in my arms.
I should have held you in my arms and rocked you like a babe.
I should have let the shock-waves of your death ripple through me so you could be left, quiet.
But I ran.
Foolishly.
Like a fool, I ran to find some nurse, some machine, some machine-nurse to pump you life-full.
And you left, trembling.
© LS 2012
vimh 