Grief (Parts I and II)

For Cheryl

I.
And in the end it didn't matter what we did or 
didn't do or what we had planned – it all came 
and went way too fast and now you're gone and
I can't even wrap my head around why or where 
or how someone so young and alive could be gone
so fast when I still have your books and you have 
the first half of my new book on CD. There's friends 
we shared that we only knew through each other 
and I have to wonder if I'll see any of them again 
and if I do will we get beyond you. Will there come 
a time when I don't start to forward an e-mail or 
pick up the phone or watch a movie and wonder if 
you've seen it yet and think the book was better than 
the film or if it was just a total dud all around. Who 
will have forty custard cups for candle holders on 
fifteen minutes notice, extra toothbrushes in their trunk, 
appreciate Tasha Tudor and African drumming (and 
sometimes in the same day), or tell me to do it when 
it just makes no sense. New kids' books will publish, 
theatre shows will be announced, tiny restaurants with 
organic fare will open and it will hurt each time they do. 
I'll have adventures you would have loved. Grief is so 
goddamn selfish. I miss you while I cry for me. 





II.
counting down



there are only so
many days
left for me to remember;
to remember
laughing,
and chocolate,


the last time we spoke,


the movie we had plans the
following week to go to
and all that you loved
about this season.

a year ago
when you left a voicemail
I can't seem
to delete; when we ate at
that restaurant
and saw the Irish Christmas show.

in less than 22 days
you'll be gone for a year
and the world, not just my world,
is oddly disjointed
without

you. 



seven years
defined by so much loss,
yet the void left in your
wake still cuts mercilessly
to the quick.



gratitude
jockeys with grief,
and in the end I can only
ascertain that you were
most extraordinary
just for being.