Remains

It was three and a half hours my family sat around the kitchen table, each one not going to be the one, to tell me, you were dead, and five more for me to pack, buy a plane ticket, get to the airport, then home

We couldn’t find your body, the police didn’t know, the hospitals didn’t know, you were lying, left and right shoulder blades, pressed into a steel table, all intrusions already having taken place, before I could get there

I was unable to travel, a straight line, the shortest distance, time doubled itself, not more but thicker, harder to negotiate

I want an untampered memory, no chalk lines, threads or scales, I left the blood on your jewelry, asked about the suit you wore, they probably cut you out of it

In every way possible, I have stretched out my arms, enveloped and pulled everything back, starting with me