for Eileen, forever ago – Poetry by Han Raschka

brown grass feels like disappearing acts (she left, she’s gone, buried beneath)

i miss the way she painted the sun (do i see her in it sometimes? maybe, but i wonder if she’s stars instead)

i fractured my index finger (i was trying to dig her up, find the bones of a girl who ran like whispers)

i gave her my constellations (i hope she still sees them, counts the fireflies, and tells them to come home)

the earth swallows her (she’s stuck in its throat, i can’t let her slide all the way down)

i am wilted (there is a hole where the moon fits, she lives on it, in it, in me).