by Wendy Burk
Your battles are over. What befell
has been slipped into folders, boxed, and measured.
Your ink so flat, fruitful,
still desires to unfold —
I am sorry
I don’t remember
I have found great comfort
I have been terror-stricken
— an apology or an argument.
What do we reach for now, but words?
With them, with their aid
we finish each other’s sentences
and we finish the sentences of the dead.
Last updated November 14, 2022