Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Out of Reach

There’s got to be a way out of this.
Out of this hole.
Out of this mess.
Out of this feeling
of helplessness.
Luna’s on the hill
staring down at my window.
She is backlit in the sun.
A black furry figure
running through the trees.
I look at her and wish I were seeing Trouble.
Christmas was spent in California
where there were no reminders of him
except for the occasional mention.
I spent the week hiding from those I didn’t want to see
and regretting seeing others.
There was no fighting
like in my family,
just an unrelenting silence
and the occasional slip of the tongue.
I learned about secrets I had supposedly violated
and I learned there are people I never want to see again.
Mainly I learned I don’t want to spend Christmas with either of our families.
When I came back
I walked in to the emptiness of wood.
The bald floor where his bed used to lay,
the silence,
the empty hill,
all greeted me with their sorrow.
This house is a box to me now.
A brick container
holding nothing but my bed,
my guitar
and my past.
Some days are better than others.
But the holidays…
I suppose they’re bad for anyone who has ever lost someone.
There are days when I have almost gotten used to life without him.
I am free to travel (though I haven’t).
and there is no one
disturbing me with the constant need to go in and out of the house
or bark at the squirrels outside.
There is no fur on the floor,
or muddy paw prints,
or dead rabbits at my back door.
but the minuses could never outweigh the pluses.
He was everything to me.
Everything.
He spoke my language
and I spoke his.
I thought I would have been out of this house
months ago.
I thought I would have found a way to Portland or New York
where I could start again
and finally bury the dead.
But I’m still here
and the dead is still very much alive.
It’s waiting on the hill
and running down the hall.
It’s everywhere I am when I come up the drive.
It’s all here
but completely out of reach.