seeing death

came home to see life,

and instead

saw death.


I missed the last good years

and the guilt

that breaks my heart

somehow makes me feel heartless.


I remember pink lipstick

and white hair

and too much blush

and ageless beauty.


I remember snarky comments

and worn out advice

and exaggerated stories

and eloquent wisdom.


I saw

uncombed tufts

bloody skin

a blind gaze

a hollow voice.


selfishness wishes

I had closed my eyes,

so my last memory

could be a different one.


but I whisper a promise,

“no more missed time.”


bc, 2016