I don't know how to mourn someone that I've never met
when you speak at funerals you talk about their laughter, how they lit up the room (it was the way you said ‘hullo’, the sing-song announcement of a stream)
the memories you had together, days at the park and the smell of their shampoo when you hugged them close (it was the stories you told, of myths and your childhood and maybe they were the same thing)
I don't know how to mourn someone that I've never met
when I can't speak on memories that we shared or tell a room of those grieving about the joke that was just between us (it was the messages about a spider in the middle of the night and thousands of voices saying the same thing)
how do you mourn someone who never smiled at you (I wish I had seen you smile more)
how do you package that grief
how do you bury it
I don't know how to mourn someone that I've never met
how can I say that I miss you when I never waved goodbye to you (I wish I had known to say goodbye sooner)
but I miss you
I don't know how to mourn someone that I've never met
there are no books on grieving a stranger on morning someone whose name you never even knew (not until it was too late)
there are no support groups for the loss of someone you never spoke to once (I will never forget your voice)
I don't know how to mourn someone that I've never met and I'm mourning and this is new and I'm doing it badly and I am doing clumsily and I am doing it in the middle of the night in the bathroom because I don't know how to mourn you but I do
this is how I mourn someone that I’ve never met
- untitled poem, written at 1:47 a.m. on 12.23.22
