Aftermath

What else can my eyes unsee? No

signs, no tells, no warnings. What more

can my ears unhear? Cries for mama.

Your voice no longer peals *wake up*,

and your pulse once iambic skip-stopped.

All amiss, gone. A leaving, as in a state of. Today,

I’m half-dead remembering

when the Gulf left its body to come for ours.