Love’s loss is
endless.
There will be no recovery
of the thing that is lost –
whatever shall I call it? –
something prime, key, critical,
required.
In feeling this
I’m not alone.
Millions of people every moment every day -
old wo/men, children, teens, our mothers, fathers, friends -
have this invisible
enclosure ripped away.
Love
only has short use, now. We should expect it
to flick out,
the instantaneous blast
to rip our homes apart, the after-shock
to break our hearts,
the loss of what makes him, him,
or you, you
to bruise the innerspace we crawl into.
Jacqui Thewless
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/et-tu/
