Before you Pulled the Trigger

I'd tell you that Mom's hair fell out in clumps.
She cut it short--to her her ears--just to cover up
The drastic thinning.

I'd tell you that Connor didn't speak for days.
He boarded up the doors, locked himself away,
And paid no heed to our knocking.

I'd tell you Cole reinvested his faith in cigarettes.
Ghosts of lost opportunities riddled him with regret
And left him bleeding.

I'd tell you Dad's sobs resounded through the mortuary:
Notes of a grotesque requiem sung to your body.
The memory still haunts me.

I'd tell you the cat still cries at your door,
Bed gone now, he curls up in a guitar case on the floor,
Faithfully awaiting your triumphant homecoming.

I'd ask you why you left, why you didn't leave a note.
If you still felt the same, I suppose I'd let you go:
As I'm trying.

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