Dolor

My jeans are drenched as I look

at the blurred images of you. It is hard to

remember your face, though, when I can

look in a mirror, I see you. Every night 

when I go to bed, I think

about my life if you were.

I might understand boys better.

         Every year, when it’s your birthday, I would

ask what your gift would be. You 

shrug, Million dollar.

A drawing, picture, or a

pair of socks? Every year I want

you in front of me. 

Your grizzly arms surrounding

me. I turn to the earth

and beg

it to swallow me.

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