it hurts too much
laying these dead Barbies out in a line,
like toy soldiers, willing them
a final resurrection
and for what?
I watched her eat half a pastrami sandwich
after she helped decorate your nursery,
James, you will never hear her beautiful voice
wash over you in waves, the sunlight in her face,
as she remembered better times
despite the darkness she relived every day
not like this, not like this, oh, god, not like this
My finger pauses over your name in the book of tunes, as I charge my little pink jukebox. I didn’t know why. Until today, Marit.
You are gone, and Sara Bareilles lives on, like she’s the only one. But we know better. You were 10 times the singer-songwriter she’ll ever be.
October 21, 2018.
Another one dies on Facebook. Obscene obituary.
How am I going to tell her long-time pianist? My husband?
I wanted to be her when I grew up: complicated, breezy, and kind. A true poet who made the music work in her favor, and made me believe I could be beautiful in my own way.
I never said goodbye.
Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on January 15, 2021.
“Here am I, father,
Drive you to the water.
Take you through the harbor
One last time.
And I will leave you there, pining
The almighty pastime,
Dying in the arms of the ocean.
Can’t you see all that I ever wanted
Was someone to stay with me?
But I loved a no-good man like you.
What the hell did I expect
From a young fisherman?” —”Noah’s Ark,” Marit Peters/”Dead Reckoning”