holding

i bring a spade to a polite dinner and
you don’t even notice that i’ve stopped digging with my hands.
it’s awkward and we call it and
we bury everything again.

so, it wasn’t us.
so, we didn’t make it.

i unclench my fist and nothing falls out of it.
you stay the same you’ve always been
because you never did close those hands.
and even as you stand there i learn
how it feels to grow into someone
who isn’t there anymore.