do women turn their heads and cough?

.


she carried a globe and a half over her
head, lifted what she could out of my ear-
shot. groaning gears and stress fractures
left shavings and residue to fall through
cracks. building and layering rocks in the
works; they coagulate and collapse into an
infinitesimally small black hole of misdeeds
never done and goodness strapped of
vision completion.

there were moments in the months spent
home, in the bottoms of wine bottles

one thought invaded sweat soaked,
two ay-em, in-transient, teddy bear
movements in a river of thumping, heavy
boulders- white water and rainbow trout.

it was like i put closure on lay-away,
and that was the first installment of
grief over her death.

a cathartic, concentrated dose of
grieving. four hours hiding under a
comforter- of all things- crying and breathing,
then resting and sleeping
in peace.


.