Some

Some

 

You almost 

forget how she 

died and how she is

dead.

From alive to vanished,

all to none.

 

You leaned tight

to the shaky plastic chair and 

a slender smile happened 

out of

a joke.

The starting line of the book 

you once read

started to preach.

 

You surrendered 

to this surge of 

the so-called absurdity.

 

Just an event in your life.

Not a ripple on your river.

Not a trace of sorrow.

Not a tear.

 

You numbed your own tentacles,

you were the lowest liar.

People don’t just

disappear,

not even in magic, they are just 

hidden

deeply.

 

So if you dare,

go into that shower where

in a split second you disclosed 

the huge lie and 

your tears outnumbered the

bathwater but your cries were 

silent.

 

If you dare,

enter that vintage store 

one Sunday, July,

and swim deep in the 

long skirts she used to 

stuff her closet with,

they even 

had the beige linen dresses that you 

used to wear as sis outfits to 

show off how pretty

your mom was and how gorgeously 

her girl had grown and 

I swear 

you will see her

in your eyes.

 

If you dare,

step in that cafe by Union Square where

you will 

hear a song, a

heavy metal qualified 

to be on her playlist, 

like the ones she used to play

all day long in her room 

and permeated yours too;

the ones you

failed to understand.

And I swear 

you will hear her 

in your ears.

 

If you dare,

let her in your dreams.

She met Sam yesterday, 

in this moderate apartment where we used to live

pulled down in recollections

but was crowded now.

She gave me some money 

told us to have fun

maybe more fun

than we could.

 

If you dare,

every day see and hear her more—

it will not even be in your

gleaming dreams—

so you will know even though she is not 

all but at least

some.

 
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