We mourn our loss in bathrooms
With showers blasting;
In cars with locked doors,
Windows closed to hide our screams.
The pain of the amputation too much to bear.

 

Like an organ removed from our body.
Never to be replaced,
A painful emptiness,
An open sore oozing pain.

 

We walk into closets,
Rummage in attics,
Sit on curbside
Sifting through trash.
Hoping against all hope to
Find that which was lost.

 

There is no returning,
There is no turning back time
And time doesn't heal all wounds
At least not now
When it is a putrid sore.

 

And so we sit on the edge of forever
Waiting for their return
Bandaging our wound
With a dressing
That burns like Tabasco sauce on our tongue.

                              (c)2008 Leona M Seufert