girlfriend calls me each
month
on the anniversary
of his death.
she's still working it out,
things done,
things said.
the pondering is endless.
she's in the deep end,
the mud
sucking off her shoes.
she can't move.
i try to keep it light,
but she insists
on crying at some point.
she tells me it's been
three months, four days,
and fourteen hours
since he left this life.
i ask her how the weather is,
hoping to change
the subject
to which she's grateful.
she tells me it's sunny
and warm. it's nice.
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