This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

Please don’t read into this, at all.

But your poetry feels like you’re teaching
us how it feels to lay your sadness to rest.
Every sentence a shovel of fresh dirt on
the coffin of your memory. ‘Go to sleep
now, I have seen you’

And I can viscerally see mine as the
devastating loss of the things I was
waiting for. A whisper of a promise
expired. Something always, just entirely
out of reach. 

And at the impasse, we can look to each
other … and keep going.

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