Before Your Heart

stopped abruptly beating

and the wooden signs, placed

like warnings, each word,

signifying your date of

death, we felt the wind

of your name, burn into our backs.

your car, cradle empty,

left running with door wide

open like a mouth,

consuming you whole.

you existed in a world

that didn’t want to know

you, who would have rather

forgotten you than to acknowledge

your existence. your children

miss your ghosted texts,

your puff of smoke disappearing

act, and so we remember you

by the faded picture collage at the

edge of town, staked like permanence

and wonder where you’ve gone,

where you’ve been all these years.