Still There
I don’t quite have the words to describe it, but
it’s like the ashy remnants of wood left behind
after everything else has burned away but those
pieces just refuse to get reduced down to pure
black carbon, pigheadedly holding onto a shred
of what wood they once were before the inferno.
Or it’s like a possum that refuses to play dead,
sitting there on the summer lawn looking up at
you with those beady little half-blind eyes that
possums seem to have, the most hideously ugly
of backyard critters, rat-faced, toothy, and too
stupid to realize that he’s about to be murdered.
Or it’s one of those heaping snow-piles in the
corner of the parking lot that was shoved there
two months earlier by some oversized pickup
plow, and though it’s seventy degrees outside,
it just won’t melt, frost-dried into a grey-white
crystallized glacier too stubborn to say goodbye.
yeah, that’s lost love,
sort of.
