What Happens When We Don’t Say Goodbye?

Tre L. Loadholt
Jul 16 · 2 min read

This is how I will remember you:

silly, silly boy
chasing tail
laughing mouth, eyes full
of summer.

the girl you caught,
you gave your child —
left your name
and nothing else.

how can death take you so soon?
the mystery. the madness.
the way you are now a
Facebook memory
for those still scrolling through
lost days they will never get back.

This is how I will remember you:

giddy, quick hands
storming legs, breaking through
a crowd, lips coated in
bubblegum cigarette powder,
begging for a kiss.

you never uttered a mean
word to me, only those of love
and I brushed you off because
we were kids and running
around a field or in a hot
gym or lifting weights occupied
my time.

you persisted and I said “Yes!”
the messages flood my phone,
and I want to stop the
influx of sad faces and weeping words —
I want your death to disappear,
but the Reaper works overtime.

This is how I will remember you:

dancing down the aisle on
graduation day,
Sunday shoes shined, my face
on your wingtips,
a blue gown draped over your
broad shoulders.

pearl teeth poking through
your lips, your hands flailing
in the humid air.
us. them. we . . .
children, no longer children
headed into a world
that promised to
swallow us whole.

you are not dead,
not today.
I remember you alive.


©2019 Tremaine L. Loadholt. All Rights Reserved

Tre L. Loadholt

Written by

I am more than breath & bones. I am nectar in waiting. •https://acorneredgurl.com

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