Mashed Bananas


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
I pause,
and breathe into the sharp, cool blade

and then I return to dreaming
about the smell of mashed bananas
on her cheeks.

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