Filed under Sonnet

NaPoWriMo 2019: 4 (Mourning)

I want to believe he is still alive, here in the casket of a cellphone buried in the heart pocket of my black suit where he is a listed contact: unworried, electric, and carefree. Text messages saved, sent from happier times months ago, re-read, re-examined for presages that could have predicted this scene of woe. … Continue reading