watching you go

This little girl, she has no idea why everyone is crying. She is spreading a blanket on the ground, crawling on her hands and knees, making room for her tea party, and she is whispering

because that’s what her mother told her to do.

There is something so essential about this way to die. It’s the essence of what a life is, maybe. Or what death ought to be. Because if you must die—and we all must—shouldn’t it be this way? Surrounded by the people you spent your life with, your memories with. This is your enormous family all thinking of you as a child, as a man, as a husband, as a brother. All thinking of you at your alivest.

And there is nothing we can do. So

we will sit and we will wait and we will fill our hearts
with so much love that we can only feel grief while we watch your soul slip out of your body. There is nothing we can do but love you,
so we will watch you die.

We will breathe shallow breaths, saving some for you. We watch you go.

With every labored breath, every yellow touch, every slow, slow movement, we watch you go.
We all knew this would happen.
You are not ready. We are not ready.

In one moment, there will be all of us, breathing in and out,
and in the next there will be one less.

These people you leave behind, these pieces—your porch, your garden, your children, your shirts and pants and cologne and shampoo—will be your calling card, your existence, long after you have left.

And when the rest of our lives happen, we will watch for you.

This little girl, she will probably remember you the least. She will remember this day as the one where everyone cried while she begged them to play make believe.

-- For Kalapi Mama

enough now

I don’t miss you.

when I stopped feeling your eyes on me,
stopped feeling your hand on my shoulder,
when I stopped feeling your kiss on my back,
I stopped missing you.

How could I miss you?
You came, and you stayed
in my breath and voice and thoughts
until you left.
And now you are finally,
finally gone,
and I can taste air that doesn’t belong to you
and oh, it’s never tasted better.

You came to me as soon as I let go
the first time
but this time I’m letting go of you.
So take back the space you gave to me
because I don’t need it,
I have enough now.

But I’ll keep some things.
I’ll keep the music the tent the dances the blinks.
I’ll keep the day you sipped my beer
I’ll keep the flower you put in my pocket
I’ll keep the pieces of the shell you cracked

I’ll keep the electricity
I’ll keep the motions the words the firsts
I’ll keep what was mine, always mine,
and maybe I’ll keep some of yours.
But the rest, I don’t need it, I don’t want it
Those things will belong to you
Oh, this way is better.

You take the sandwich dates the empty signs the last chances.
You take the name that won’t leave me
You take what kept me awake
You take the part of me that wanted you.
I’ve had enough now.

Take back the space you saved for me
Because I won’t take it.
I have enough now
And oh, I’m feeling better.

“When I put my hands on your body on your flesh I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching iself from the bones. I see the organs gradually fade into transparency leaving a gleaming skeleton gleaming like ivory that slowly resolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight the way your flesh occupies momentary space the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth to this present time I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures to reach up around my neck to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.”

-David Wojnarowicz