After She Died (working title)

I had no idea the knife it would take

to carve her out of my Sundays

my speed dial

my family stories

would plunge so deep,

would pierce the marrow of the bones that formed around her initials

stamped into me like Viking runes, like her fine-handed signature

all I know is that after she died

I had to keep lists of what to do to run my life

cook dinner

call my mother

water the plants

I of coupon clippings and spreadsheets and five-star reviews

I now leave things behind at the grocery store

and have to talk myself into making eye contact on the street

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