cold l is gone

She (Part II)

She is made of memory.
Photograph gone soft at the edges.
Exit sign saw from a rear-view mirror.
Lipstick print on the seal of an envelope.
The question on everyone’s tongue:
What ever happed to… ?
She is made of attic dust.
Of tea gone cold.
Thesaurus turned to l for loss.
She is made of gone too soon,
gone too long, “Gone.
The saddest word in the language.
In any language.”
She is the word at the tip of your tongue.
Made of muscle memory. Phantom limb.
She is a sensation my body recalls.
She is made of first love.
She is made of thirst, love.
She is made of hunger pang
and withdrawal symptoms.
She is made of I left my heart in San Francisco.
She is made of I left my heart in the departures lounge.
She is a future I still dream myself into.
She is worth coming home to.
She is home.
She is made of that place
you return to nostalgic.
She is that place you can navigate
even with all the lights turned out.
But she is not made of lights turned out.
She is made of lights turned on, lights
turned up, lighten up.
She is made of light, light, light
and then there was (more) light!
She is the part in the story
where hope is restored to the people.
She is mostly the part where
someone is left crying.
She is made of crying.
She is made of choking down the telephone.
She is sob-caught-in-the-back-of-the-throat.
She is made of grief amplified.
She is made of my grief.
Made of me in my funeral dress.
Me held up at the elbows.
Me reading this eulogy.
Me with a handful of dirt.