in the aftermath
all that’s left is compassion
weaving through the wreckage
of what was and what can never be
reconstructed as something
we think maybe can get fixed
when we can only move on from it
a last look back not even
a wave of hand
just a sigh
and a sad thought
death is the wrong word for it
since it never really
lived
a stillborn thing we bury in a grave
give it a name, say a prayer over
then forget that we
had to
drive a stake through
its heart
to keep it from evolving
into something even more painful
than it was
and in the end we -- as she points out
ultimately need to
forgive ourselves
then lose the memory
in the depths of time
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