“that’s not all right, man. that’s not all right.”

the air stank of stale tobacco and petrichor

and the rain kept falling, falling.

and he stood there, naked before us

and he wept his salt and blood

because she would have been twenty-six today

if she hadn’t drank so much

and took her Ambien.

she never woke up.


you could feel her in the air that night

she was with us

in the drinks we poured

in the breaths we took

and in the rain that


and fell

and fell.



I selected this post to be featured on Poetry Blogs. Please visit the site and vote for my blog!