Violins

I constructed a grave for the might-have-been.

I buried down the dreams it could have had.

I patted the earth flat where its skin could have sat.

The green, green grass curled between my toes was something of splendor.

I think it was a storybook ending. It was all I could’ve asked for.

When I was your girl, when we ate breakfast together,

when we had sing-alongs in your car, when harps sounded more like heaven

and less like love songs that didn’t come to be,

we were the blue pinstriped suit and navy ball gown.

We were on patrol for people to smile at while

we swung our hands between our hips.

Today, I planted new violins beside the headstone.

I made the ground even and hid the tears beneath the concrete.

I brushed away the imprints I made with my knees and swept away my footsteps.

Dear God,

When I get better, I expect him to be at my door

with a bouquet of purple flowers. Please not roses.

Dear God,

There’s no pressure. I know he’s a lie. But I ask anyway.

Dear God,

Don’t forget to place a flower with black wrapped around it

on every other Thursday on our grave.

I don’t want to forget.

I saw your sister at Church last week and didn’t smile at her.

Does that make me a horrible person?

I wanted so badly to say something, but I’m giving up on you.

There aren’t even metaphors to give you now.

I actually had a letter in my pocket, tickled with frilly words

and peppermint paper. I clenched it in my fingers

to give to her before I dropped it in the trash.

Would you read it anyway?

When will this stop hurting?

I visited our grave again today.

Sometimes, when I sleep, I walk down the stairs

and hug the couch pillows.

I wake up on top of wet cloth and soaking cheeks.

But I don’t cry for you.

Today, I plucked each violin and listened to the major and minor ‘C’.

They sounded too much like apologies, so I ripped them out by the roots.

Empty holes lie beside our forgiven words:

 “Here lies the ones who could’ve been, who should’ve been,

but who aren’t.”

To tell you the truth, I don’t miss the greenery—

only the ghostly notes between each single string.

Funny, that’s what I sound like anyway.

**I wrote this in about 10 minutes... I was listening to sad songs and reading other poetry and suddenly this crossed my mind. Be brutal--I like the concepts that this poem speaks of but I don't think it's quite there yet, you know? Thanks all!