We carried so many songs—
skipped, shuffled, half-sung—
but none like that one.
The one with the iceberg.
The one with the flute.
The one that always swelled
right before the crying.
She played it on loop
for a week after he left,
face buried in a hoodie,
the cord around her knees
like we were all tangled
in grief together.
We tried to buffer the blow,
but our cushions thinned,
our jack bent sideways
from being yanked out
mid-sob.
It still echoes—
“You’re heeeeere… there’s noooothing I feeeeear…”
and she believed it,
even when her hands shook
while folding his shirts
into a stranger’s box.
Now we sit in a drawer,
one side silent,
the other holding
that last trembling note
like a ghost
with nowhere else to go.
-
Author:
Matthew R. Callies (
Offline) - Published: August 4th, 2025 10:37
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments2
So much feeling in this poem. The lines and meter set the tone. A truly soulful poem that speaks to loss to nostalgia and to the pain and joy that goes with it. Most lovely a fave
A wonderful write overloaded with feeling speaking from the heart, very nicely expressed and written
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