My
mother died
Don’t
have a clue what to do with this Intel
All
my tears are conscientious objectors from another unobserved police action
I
covered up her face with a white sheet
Then
I uncovered her face so she could sing like a nightingale
I
pray the check to the rabbi doesn’t bounce because I don’t feel like going to
Hell today
I
don’t know how to grieve
Properly
or improperly
All
my coping mechanisms have flown south for the winter
Tired
of pretending I’m broken
Tired
of wishing ill on others because I don’t know how to build my own happiness
Tired
of being tired and want to wake up and walk away from all this sadness
My
mother is dead
My
father has been out of the picture for quite some time
Picture
perfect families only exist on TV and in our most warped of nightmares
Grief
and I have never quite seen eye to eye
When
Hospice called I was inconsolable
Soon
I stopped crying and a drought took hold like an absentee parent or vengeful
God
Charles Cicirella
11/2/17
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