Bereavement (I suppose)

I approach stunned, bewildered

A minesweeper’s brute concentration
Focused on the next step

Stepping aside ghosts

Step aside, make room,
Make room

It’s a throng now
Like, officially,

Like, at that point
Where you’d feel cursed
If you didn’t know better

I mourn the death of a friend,
And I feel guilty for forgetting,
However briefly, the old dead.

I thought I was coping just fine with yet another death.
Whatever, done this before, no problem, right?

But, maybe not.
I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

I don’t know if I’m using it as an excuse to write poetry

Or exploiting it to reach out

I’m emotionless
Calm and something else.
Some other feeling

I take these as common signs of bereavement.

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Franklyn Monk

Poet. Geek. Science fiction aficionado. General freak.
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