Sad questions

#18

How many days has it been 

Since you last wrote a poem? 

Only a day? 

Such a long day it was. 

You were busy
displacing water with your body

to measure the weight of silence 

across time. 

It was difficult. With each wave

the body moves 

and gravity disperses,

water spills and you had to do it again, 

like a sad question 

repeating itself. 

For example: 

If you miss someone 

long enough 

hard enough,

would they know? 

Could they feel it

sitting heavy on their heart,

refusing what is told

 it must accept

except you 

don't matter. 

Could they know? 

But then, why would you need them to know? 

They did not know when autumn came to these parts and leaves burned bright for days without you seeing. 

They did not know how much

you wanted to break the face of serenity walking around that lake 

stepping on grass you love,

stepping on paths you want 

to lay down on,

stepping on stones you want 

in your pockets. 

You wanted to break the smiles that must have happened.

The hands that must have pretended to need warmth. 

Tear the hair that must have turned gold in the sunset. 

Your sunset. 

Did they know? 

4.22.17