for all of you

imaginary eulogies
delivered at dark wooden lecterns
for black dresses clutching mascara tissues
and drab suits framing muted ties

everyone is told about the water
you flooded down my dry river bed
when no one was looking

there are echoes
of children fidgeting
over the pauses of my voice
over the pin-drop church

and only the newborns know
where you are
and why you're gone
and how to let out the appropriate screams

why
do these words breed
like mice in the walls
waiting for lights to go out




wb