Vertebrea

A photo essay of a family in mourning

perforated ever so slightly to better let the lights seep through

Sunday traffic clears a path

we float inches above the road

close our eyes and drive so slow

like we never need to get home

To clear the doorstep of flowers

throw open the blinds in his empty room

avert our eyes from his fingerprints

is there something I'm forgetting?

fall to my knees in the hospital parking lot

on the way in, arms full of branches

I am dead fall, dead fall

Last time I came here to visit him

I ran sunburn through the halls

my arms full of tiger lilies

I don't remember this

I was told to go home

To clear the doorstep of flowers

throw open the blinds in his empty room

avert my eyes from his fingerprints

is there something I'm forgetting?

(Why, when you know you should go, is it so hard to leave?)

Came this far to say goodbye, to make things right

instead I fiddle with his blankets

fetching coffee no one would drink

I am not prepared

Through the hush of debts and the roar of engines

struggled to recall, this is how it ended

this is how it ends

Home,

turn the key in the door and fall

for what it seems like an awfully long time

there's something I'm both remembering and forgetting

a name on the tip of my tongue

(Why, when you know you should go, is it so hard to leave?)