For Matt

Some of you may know that Eric and I lost our best friend to suicide on August 15th.

For Matt

Days later

and you’re still not here.

We catch ourselves waiting, you know.

The ring of a phone, the ping of an in-box.

Who knew that the center of a human heart could cramp like this

Or that the empty would find us

on the way to the grocery store, driving under these timeworn oaks

in a pair of sunglasses sitting on the counter

in a shopping list left near the edge of the sink.  

Remember when we

went paddle boarding ate fried snickers at the state fair ducked out for Chinese walked the dogs sat in the sand the three of us, watching the full moon bathe itself in the Carolina ocean?

Now dead-lines come and fall away

nowadays words do not stir me,

we avoid each other in the darkness, in the deadness

in the blank spaces where language won’t come

or withers away even though

nothing stops

when you pull of at an exit

the cars pass, the hours tick by

people just

ache or smile or fall in love

with out you.

You would have seen Eric and I

heads together, leaning like young trees

in the storm of your leaving

and the shaking of our heads no no no. There are phone calls to be made and we need to make them. This is good because later, when it sinks in, there is nothing but silence and weight. 

Eventually I pour some wine 

there is anger and I swallow it

because after all, what is left? There is nothing to do but sit in the sunroom 

drugged with sadness

no movements, or doing, til I remember

we were supposed to have dinner

tonight.

In the kitchen I pull out the collards,

cut the spines even as they blur

because there is something soothing in the sound of

cutting board meets knife.

You would’ve perched on that stool by the island

Your running shoes looking weary, your calves lean and strong

grey eyes looking flat

or full

and I would have looked up and told you

you can’t find what’s missing

if you don’t stick

around.

We'll miss you forever, Matt. I can't believe you're gone.