For Carmen and Jessi, whose deaths we mourned on Facebook
You disappear like text across a screen—
blur of fingers tapping backspace
makes you not, never were.
I am, we are
so come compelled in pale procession,
like pilgrims to a shrine
on which some hand has scribed
still you live
still you go
still you like
and begs us write
you are everywhere here,
Banshee silence, body of text, name in a book.
How to grieve?
Some, expecting still the stone to roll away,
feast on words made insufficient flesh&ndsh;
thimble of juice, wafer thin and broken—
and wait for you to rise.
Others carry gifts,
pictures, story, song,
hieroglyphic scrawl, funerary ritual
old as grief.
I, too, bear an offering,
small token for your journey,
engrave your wall with spell of words,
and pray you passage safe.