The ground is softer now
than the last time I came,
and the trees are starting
to show bits of green.
You'll like the shade
under this big oak tree
when summer comes.
I know how much
you like shade.
The wind pulls at my hair,
tries to carry me somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
But I need to be here today.
I brush away the leaves and twigs
from the base of your headstone.
I hate that word.
Headstone.
I hate that it's here,
I hate that it's yours,
that it has your name on it.
I touch the surface,
trace your name with my finger.
The letters feel colder than I expected.
I stay for awhile, say a prayer,
listen to the sound of my voice
dissolve into the quiet.
I still wish I knew why, Anna.
I know the answer is locked away
in a place I can't reach.
But I still want to know.
The road you were on was yours,
but I would have walked it
beside you.
You were never alone.
You left a silence I can’t fill,
and a question I can’t answer.
But still, I stand here.
I talk to you.
And I hope, somehow,
that you hear me,
and know that you were loved.
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