train of thought

On your best day we got the call that doesn't honor bed time protocol.
I handed your twin to Teta, said you were not well, and left in my frayed pajamas.

I was between two train tracks, the ground started to rumble beneath me.
We drove to the hospital, that place of avalanches, running red lights and chanting
It can't end this way.

We ran to you, the place where you exited my body a horizontal burn radiating
Men compressing your chest and nurses calling out the numbers read on your blood
The tea leaves of your X-ray

Chaos as the rumble grew louder, trains coming in on either side of me
Your father paced outside of your room and I stared dumbly at the scene of your
death unfolding

I don't think we can get her back, your surgeon said.
in the moment that the trains passed me simultaneously
Pulling in opposite directions at the center, not holding.

Opening doors down the dark corridor

I feel as though I've become aware of dimensions of consciousness that were previously unknown to me. There's a darkness I've come to wear on my soul.

Mapping it Out

Every day, I spend hours thinking about Eva. Each day I awake with a single desire -- to fully map the terrain and boundaries of my grief. I just want to know where it begins ... and where it ends. So on a daily basis I run my fingers through it. I go over it and through it. I come up with daily metaphors to try to understand it. But I always come up with very little. Almost nothing.

I want to create something good out of loss. I would endure any ruin to have her back, but short of that, I am desperate to have something good in her name and memory.

call all good things Eva