I’m sorry you lost your sister, Margaret,
and I wish it were October
when I write poems, but it’s June
and I’m stuck with blooms and sunshine,
not zombies nor jack-o-lanterns that decay,
scattering images reflecting pain and horror
I feel but imagine as broken geraniums.
And I’ve never written from the voice
of a drone and think that’s cool, too.
But I’ve never lost a sister.
My heart breaks for you.