what to tell G

1.  M.A. should have arrived in another world by now.  G left behind.  what G must be feeling, not unimaginable.  possibly beyond comfort at the moment.  time when words fall short.  fall into being nothing.  suddenly empty and hollow.  without weight.  what to tell G?  nothing.  there is no need to reiterate what is already known.  a given: how we change moment to moment, how more so, changing moment to moment from across such distance.

2.  when H passed away, R was inconsolable.  a performance artist, a solo dancer, a poet, R has read and heard all the words of comfort, they have become trite.  they all mean nothing, she said again and again and again.  crying there, in her white mourning dress, on a bench beside a convenience store.  i realized there are no words of comfort for a writer who comforts others with words.  in need of comfort, a loss.  i sat across her and listened, a rewinding, again and again of memory until exhaustion.

3.  who is unfamiliar with loss, and change?  and who does not survive?

4.  there is a scar in my memory and it is all healed.  'though it has rendered me cynical, hopeful, gentle, and resigned.