When you see the vultures sit on my roof, when you see the shadow of a ghost flit by my window, when you see the hollowness in her eyes as she realises that it’s gone, when you see the emptiness burgeoning in her chest, what will you do? When they come to take it away, will you stand by the door, watching? When they gouge the earth’s heart out, will you smell the soil? Will you take it in your palm, try to touch what’s gone? When the rain comes, will you finally, finally, take the opportunity to feel, to cover your tears in the water?
When wet xiphoids stain the front of your clothes, will you remember how you loved me?