It has been months since the last time
you told me you love me
but your voice still echoes in my head
as loud and clear
as it resonates the screech of your tires against the ice,
the storm of splinters on your eyes,
the invisible tide that seized you
from the leather seat and into the snow,
from a moment so fragile
into an endless stretch of
sorrowful tomorrows.
You lectured me on
what to pick inside my closet
never knowing that one day,
you'd become a skeleton inside it.
You told me about boys
who were worthy of my time and who weren't
then clicked the clock off with
your death.
You guided my hand into creating things
that would last because we couldn't
but did you really have to take the exit
first, sister?
For the last of the last times,
would you please visit me in my dreams
and teach me how to put your eyeglasses
back to where it used to be?
Teach me how to let the fragrance of a boy into my life when every atom of the air
still reeks of your leaving.
Teach me how to put my faith back into
the innocence of the city's glimmering
white cloaks in the cold.
Teach me how to forgive you for leaving me too soon
and to forgive myself for holding on
to a phantom I love too much to let go.
YOU ARE READING
AN ALL THE BRIGHT PLACES TRIBUTE : POETRY COLLECTION
PoetryThis is a collection of poems I have written to honor the novel that changed my life along with many others. This February, in honor of the book, "All The Bright Places" by Jennifer Niven, I have decided to host a poetry celebration on my social me...
