The thing about me is

that I’m only brave enough to say goodbye.

So I’m sorry I only held you once before

you went. And I’m sorry

that I still think about it; how different I’d be

if I had stayed in the backseat with you.

The truth is that I’m scared of my hands

because I don’t love them enough to cry.

And I hid my tears while you were burning,

but now I wish I’d watched the fire too.

Because your brother was the same as mine.

Because I’m not an expert but I understand

how you hurt. 

Because love isn’t enough for me. I want

forever even when I’m tired – I want to be haunted

by my dad’s face in the mirror. By the felt mice

still sleeping in the cupboard.

So here’s what happened:

I refused to watch you die

and now I can only write about fangs;

named after someone I don’t know, but

maybe we’re both better off that way. And

I still find your ash on my clothes. And

time is divided into before and

after. And now

we have a dog named after the dead.