Almost a Conversation

This grief is not a tool that accomplishes
Not a shovel that digs a deeper hole
This grief just is
Constantly is

Like the cup fallen from my hand
When I swear I was being careful
It can’t be put back together, though I’ve tried
Can’t hold the drink it once held
Can’t bring back the friendship that presented itself to me as gift
Another one will never do

This grief is the constant non-presence of my friend
The reminder that he is no longer a part of the world
My world, anyone’s world
Goddammit!
What does the world even mean without him in it?
What is it for anymore?

This grief has contours, a scent, a flavor, a sound
This grief looks like a watch he wore most days
Worn smooth by the movements of his own unique life
This grief smells like coconut Sex Wax in the summer of ’86
This grief tastes like a fresh sushi roll
Which he ordered with such confidence
It sounds like his mischievous laughter
The sound of all is right with the world

But now, here, absent the laugh
All is not right
All is a little bit off
And even though I am surrounded on all sides by those who love me
This missing piece means I am incomplete
Unable to hold on to everything I once held