Poetry
Winter/Spring
2018

On the Anniversary of Her Son's Suicide

So tell your story, each version more distant
and yet … still fresh, never finished.

No matter whether death was sudden
or a gradual decline,

devastation wraps itself as a binding and time
is a geometry of fractals, repetitions smaller …

smaller … an intricacy that never becomes smooth,
each iteration unique, a barb you can touch.