September, 2053

Like cats lick
their dead kittens
we gather by
your lifeless body
and make promises
with our tongues
brushing against our teeth
We cry for ourselves
knowing you will let
your body smell nasty for once
in the insides of our red sand
and we can not turn the shower on
and tell you ‘it is not too cold’

Your bones will be useless even to dogs
six feet too deep
yet too shallow
to hold up the memories
you created with us
every morning
you shake me awake,
point out the wrinkles on my dress
remove the dirt in my nails
yell at everything
Breakfast will be cold,
I walk too slow,
My hair needs oiling,
do I not see that
my hair needs oiling?

Six feet too shallow
to hold our conversations
on how I need Christ,
how you need me to have money for me,
and then I tell you about my dreams
and you send smiles and say
‘ok, hurry before I get too old’
You yell at me some more
for drinking the milk you left
for the cats whom you understood better than me

You did everything for me
didn’t you?
Now I have to learn to cry
for myself
Because you are not here to do it,
like you did every night
after I told you
that my dreams were not mine.