How did this sorrow travel so far?
The letters slid across my new screen;
a collection of words, each harder to read
I was in bed, watching sleep churn as a
sickening pattern veered past the quiet
“What the fuck…seriously WHAT THE FUCK?”
We had just enjoyed a Queens dinner last January.
My letter recently arrived bringing hope and
our friends had a peculiarly Latin confidence,
“She is too good to go, plus she’s not allowed”
A new tragic countdown has begun…starting at 1;
the old one will be etched on her young metallic home
When I blink we are in the Dominican Republic drunk
In my mind she is still there and the rest was a hallucination
We took separate flights back so that scenario seems right to me