A poem for Emily

It's almost been a year since Emily was taken by tragedy. I wrote this a while ago. She was an amazing person. Needless to say I miss her.


You died on a Saturday
While I held a drink in my hand
You held an ipod
I was drinking in liquids to fill myself up
You were overflowing with something non-alcoholic
But equally intoxicating to you, my friend, the dancer.
Your steps were light on the street
Because while some carry heavy feet, weighted by all their pain and sorrow,
Your feet barely touched the ground, empty of the day’s idle concerns.
It’s not that you didn’t feel them—
But when you moved to the ambient noise of traffic
And the haunting voice of Thom
Your cares that were like boulders
Became like pumice stones— transparent and light enough to carry.
Your feet knew they needed to move,
To float above the ground—lifted by your hope for complete joy.
While my feet were swinging
As I sat in that chair
My feet knew to keep moving
Because they needed to be prepared.
To run—run to or from life.
My feet stopped swinging as my ears heard that ringtone
(the one that made you smile with half of your mouth).
My mouth forgot how to move as ears heard that your feet were still.
My feet knew to pick up where they’d left off—
Giving me a running start—
Hoping to run fast enough to travel back in time.
But my heart couldn’t take it— all the running—
Because how can you run with a broken heart?
My cement-filled shoes slowed me down,
my knees gave out.
I hit the ground
hard.
My voice was stifled by the boulders on my chest.
So, my prayers (which were more like screams)
were mere gasps for air.
And I knew you would have understood what each one meant.
Breath one, "it can't be real"
Breath two, "it can't be real"
Breath three, "stop it. it can't be real."
Breath four, "help. i need a miracle."
The prayers kept coming until I felt everything shift.

And you were gone.