gone, a year and a half

time is one of the strangest sensations
it creeps in and out of consciousness,
measured by a million things other than that clock

a year and a half, gone
gone, a year and a half

(an entirely different person ago…
who she was, i’ll never remember)

i tilt my head at the date on Tinsley’s grave —
the numbers seem so wrong

but in what world
would the date the day your baby died
seem anything other than wrong?

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