today my mother would have been forty-four
her birthday, four, eight; April 8
April, the cruellest month
four years since she's been gone
almost; four-twentyfour-twothousandfour at age forty
all these fours and multiples of fours
as if there is anything to do with them.
I miss …

I almost cannot remember
the sound of your voice or your height

there is not enough silence; there is far too much silence

This is thin ice, these skies are not blue

I do not like guns, especially the kind you used

and I've yet to appraise the damage done

from the curse …