We didn’t get to say goodbye
so I made an effigy of you,
of sticks and pebbles and mud-covered leaves,
to set outside my bedroom window.
I wonder if I could have saved you from
yourself if I had told you that you would never leave my heart.
Perhaps I should have said that the grief
(and guilt) that rages around in the floorboards of my house
would make me want to burn
and wither away
(just like you did)
But we didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Should I have known better than to not drown your phone
with arguments for living? Or should I pray for absolution,
that this fiery pain will one day too