On occasions of fighting intimacy;
those occasions of anxiety bonding to veins
and these rich blood cells powering
an ugly voice … If I had known then
how I would sleep now, I’d have set
an earlier alarm.
Watching you silently die, I didn’t know irony
would be grief’s loudest stage. Perhaps the banshee
that foretold your death, delivers my postmortem: I don’t
deserve to wear your timepiece, to follow its delicate
hands which ticked as you led your life, to touch
your lingering DNA, encircling the tiny face
you’d wind up, wrapped in gold.
As the sleeping watchman to a bandit
stealing the queen’s crown, my carelessness
with your heart is to the banshee,
taking what is Hers.
“I Lost It” is a poem in the series Grilled Cheese Sandwiches and Other Tales of Love and Loss by Sally O’Dowd.