she died during the night
sometime between midnight and 5am
she died in the bed downstairs
(really, she died in me).
I used to like the deep hours of nighttime
the world breathed easier,
and I did, too
But not now.
Now I wake up with the sun’s first stretch
and tire myself out
before the moon can assume his post.
I cannot bear being conscious
during the same hours
that her little heart gave up
that her body went adrift within mine.
But sometimes the grief wins
and I wake up at 2am with a knife to my throat
and breathe into the sharp, cool blade
and then I return to dreaming
about the smell of mashed bananas
on her cheeks.