TreePupWriter

I know they were only
a waste of space in the garden
kept the cilantro from
growing longer,
better sitting on our
kitchen table anyways
but somehow these little white flowers in a mason jar
fill up an empty space inside me

Some days, the words don't fit.
Some days you can
try on any combination, make every adjustment possible,
but they'll only slip off into a
pile of fragments and bits of attempted sentences, abandoned descriptions.

i don’t have a flag to fly half-mast
i don’t have the words to say i miss you
i don’t have the mind to fully grasp
the fact that you won’t be with us from
here on out.

i never took the time to
research you

Every time I shower
I take my finger to the sliding doors
pull away water from the surface,
spelling out "HI"
in messy streaks on the wet glass.

Really, though, I write "IH":
backwards for me so it's the right way for

It's all the same.

The decorated paper leaves from last year are still full of
photos of our maskless faces.

You still pull the orange lever for
the emergency eyewash fountain in science.

The balcony in her room was
perfect for watching the sunset.
Every night, she stood and
leaned on the metal bars
a silhouette against the sky, watching it
explode in the most miraculous of ways,