Over the Shoulder

It was palpable---

this sense of entitlement and loss

of the smell of the cemetery and the toys that didn't belong to me

of the steps to her graveside

All I could think of while standing there

was how beautiful she was in a dream

in my dream

and when I was a child

Taking me from coast to coast on butter toast

and the holding of my little hand in hers

Death wasn't a good look for me

a good look at the grave

at her

And all I could feel was the sickness of my heart

throbbing in my chest

reminding me of the disappointment I had become

And on ahead

the cloud formations were busy in conversation