A Weeded Goodbye

God knows we can heal gently from grief
when we mix the ashes of our loved one into art.

What if there is neither flesh nor bone
that can be found of the one I’ve lost?

Do I pluck skin from belly button
and hug it in place of an absent cry?

Do I remind myself that I paved way, weeded
out weeds for roots to sprout, and try again?

Can I ask my husband to hand over a chunk
of his tongue so we can make sense of fallout?

Do I mix in some dyed white again from red
feathers to prepare a makeshift body to burn?

Would that somehow make this
an easier way for us to say goodbye?

What do I do then?
Am I allowed to unearth?

Can I dig deep enough to embrace skeleton
and chameleon myself to mirror strong womb?

Do I hope then? Do I hope then?
Will something ever come from me?

Will I unlearn the weight too much
water pressure brings and the silence
that comes as it collapses hopeful nests?

© 2017 RAQUEL CAMPOS (REYES-LOPEZ) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED