On Burying My Grandmother

you can't re-member that which has been

dismembered.

you can only remember.

little caterpillar with the big orange head,

inching along the green pseudo-velvet;

has anyone been dismembered from you?

and if so,

do you even remember it?

i'll never forget that first shovel of dirt.

the rest that followed

were just a rhythm

to think to.

it will turn around.

i need more time,

just a few more months and we'll be fine.

i don't even know which one

i'm talking to anymore.

you were so much.

you are so much.

you could be so much.

if the chance was there.

which it wasn't.

isn't.

won't be.

things in threes;

always in threes.

holy number, painful number,

my number,

always been our number.

now your number.

who cares about numbers anyway?

how much?

how many?

times what?

adds up to?

evens out to about?

equals?

no matter what, it's never enough is it?

never enough time.

never enough chances.

never enough disney movies.

never enough drawings,

dreams, lyrics, roadtrips, memories, school years, coloured pencils, basements, CD's, puppets, phone conversations, lazy afternoons, songs, bus rides, games, classes, blue couches, pop tarts, hugs, anniversaries, love, peppermint patties, questions, trays, marshmallows, tea, guitar solos, concerts, e-mails, books, pens, lamps, reality, notebooks, toast, stories, dances, pillows, ink,

never enough.

i was never enough

and i'm sorry for that much.

no excuses, no qualifiers.

heavy shrug, hanging head, loving glance.

i'll never leave this world alive,

but i'll leave behind a requiem

for a fading way of thought

and a few new words in a pail by the door.

keep an eye out for it, will you?