Poems from the bottom of my anxious heart
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Altar
I could kneel here for hours apologizing
for what I didn't do so well
or not at all.
Though it was no crime at the time, now
the pain of deadly loss
makes it so
and the price I pay is huge––the icy quiet
in the house he's made,
the joys I'll never see again;
the end of ease.
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