at midday
five sat at the table for six
and ate their meal
in silence
outside the wind
threw damp maple leaves
against the window
—a dreary yet somewhat
rhythmical rattling sound
in the galley kitchen
the help cried silently
forced to accept
the loss of their beloved
captain madam
march two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
something is missing
but it’s difficult to pinpoint
exactly what it is
an immediate death
tends to make the mind
run rampant
searching for answers
to questions
that no longer exist
believing that finding
what is missing will
somehow put everything
back in alignment
what’s missing may not
be that important after all
but it’s nice knowing
whatever it may be
can’t possibly
be gone forever
february two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place. ~ Sarah Dessen
and so we sit & wait
for the child to come back home
nobody saying a word
the clock on the wall breaking
the silence
one minute at a time
but the child will never arrive
and somehow life goes on
but in a differently
distorted kind of way
thereafter the silence
is broken by this softly sounding
weeping of sorts
the kind that eventually
wakes you up at night
keeping you from ever
falling back to sleep
october two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how long must I mourn the death
of a child
how long will it take before the very idea
of loss
vanishes from my dreams
my waking thoughts
how long before the spans of the bridge
draw to a close
the river receding from its banks
and the sun returning again
in all its glory
finally bringing back normalcy
to the desert
and the oasis
the belly of a hungry child
august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve been stacking bricks
in my sleep
a sort of chimney without a roof
reminding me of things
left undone
in the middle of the night
I sleepwalk to the bathroom & back
having pissed
and flossed my teeth
the funeral for the dead
will resume at eleven o’clock
but I’ve already decided
not to go this time
instead I make eggs benedict
in the galley kitchen
a favorite of a certain someone
I used to know
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
where she went
I could not say
having disappeared
once my heart
went missing
alone on foot
I wander city streets
her reflection
in puddles
& storefront windows
street lamps give me
little to no solace
their brilliance
but a reminder
of her smile
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my mother called today
and I answered with
a brave voice
she prefaced her intention
with a word of caution
and I assured her
now was as good a time
as any
in the end
it was a nonevent
[seriously mother I can
buy my own drugs]
and by the time
we had mutually hung up on
one another
I assumed my father
was still alive
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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