Colloquially Speaking

The house is quiet.

I sort the laundry

wash the dishes

change the linens

organize the closets

prepare the food

make a list

and try,

try try try

not to think.

But here I am.

Thinking.

*

Last night I had a dream.

Someone died in my dream.

Someone close enough to me that I had to mourn.

Tear my clothes.

Sit for seven days on a low stool, in a house with covered mirrors and quiet murmurs.

And in my dream,

the next year, 

I made a big meal to break the fast and everyone gathered together as we lit a candle for the one who died and eulogized and comforted.

And in my dream I stood in the corner, hiding the second flame I finally lit, and my heart was full of a mourning that had a place to go, and my soul began to heal.

And when I woke up, I realized it was a dream.

I realized that tonight, when the sun goes down and it becomes that day, I will not light a candle, gather together with loved ones, prepare a meal to soothe…move closer to that final step of closure.

Tonight, when that day comes, I will lay in bed and wish I could have died today and met him somewhere, anywhere at all, and he could have told me why I am denied that simple act of mourning.

*

I sit, in the quiet house, and try not to think.

But the thoughts I am chasing away are meant to be thought today.

It is a day of mourning today.

A day of fasting.

A day when sorrow is acknowledge and accepted.

So I take a bite to eat.

And pretend today is another day.

As I fold the laundry

and hang the sheets out to dry

and try, 

try try try

not to wish

that today should be the day

I die.