Over and over – poem for NaPoWriMo

It’s been a year.

Your death has found a shape, now:
I can’t always hold it –
it turns liquid in my hands,
or burns, or twists
into another death, a different grief,
over and over, rolling –
but still

my lizard brain will always
feel the loss of you –
that smell of yours is gone –
and while I will catch fragments of it,
over and over, at odd moments,
I’ll never catch the whole of it –
that mix of soap and skin and scent –

peculiarly yours, and perfect –

and there are stories that I’ve lost,
already – the detail of them,
stories you told me, over and over,
but now I rummage for them,
and they’ve faded.

It’s been a year.

NaPoWriMo 18 – a poem about grief.