Verbal Agreements

Because my grandpa died on Christmas Eve.

You used to tell me "There Can Only
be One." and I used to think "One world,
one heart, one love." But now I know you
meant "One of us", and you
won't ever come back.

You once found God on a street corner,
and I don't believe you for a second
when you tell me he said your name,
when you tell me he told you you
couldn't come back.

Gasps muffle sobs in the cool
midnight smoke. Cigarettes lit in your
name, in your honor, in your
memory, a chain of destruction
until you come back.

Loose curls on the concrete
and i'm holding hands with the safety rail,
stepping over cracks,
holding my breath,
and still you don't come back.

I think you made your way through the dark
to whatever's on the other side.
But the light at the end was so bright,
you thought you were already out of the tunnel
trying to come back

I know you'd want me to move on,
to live among my ruins,
to wait until the restoration
by some museum
100 years from now.
Waiting for you to come back.

Hope mixed with thought bubbles
gives off dangerous fumes.
So I weave our story into the
clothes you were wearing when their
car collided with ours,
when you promised to come back.

Is it cold underground?
The same way it's cold top side,
top soil mixing with mixed emotions,
growing a thick layer of grass,
a pillow for your body,
when you fall back.

I think about my promise,
how you'd want me to fight this
urge to fight myself for blame.
You'd tell me it wasn't my fault,
you'd tell me I tried my best,
you'll tell me you love me
when you come back.