it is not because i am

my fingers spread wide across my cheeks
and my lips part slightly in paralysis

the pen has frightened me
i cannot misread words that are on the page
as well as i can blur them while in my brain

something about death and longing
resentment and fear
relief and abiding

this is as good as i can do tonight
the rest must stay trapped
between me and god

and shared reluctantly
in fits and bursts by her graveside

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