Staircase

We walk with the reflections of
streetlights looking up at us from puddles
an uncomfortable pace.
A guided tour of the passing of time
You talk about her like she is dead
recalling childhood, a strange lilting tune
you tell me of sneaking out to go buy lemon soda
you tell me about smores, and rooftops, and mudfights
you talk about her like she is dead
the tune lingers on your lips
you are giving a eulogy

I twice again let the phone ring
because even though I judge you
I am no better
you communicate with the dead
and I ignore the living
I don't know how to tell you
that I am powerless
I can only make things worse
that you are alone
to fight off the demons
of a hurt mind
but I truly feel that I can do no good
not for her


not all wounds heal
I am afraid
this might
be one