Spring, May 7th

I am raging screaming
at acid rain,
and silent springs,
and incompetent doctors.
But mostly I scream for the stubbornness of you.
It won't stop raining.
Spring is here,
Dead silent on your end.
Do incompetent doctors notice?

So I plan my picture
because what is left but the pain of the needles
inking in the essence of you.

A heart.
A light saber.
A rainbow swallow.

Inked into my left arm,
left, always left, but your Catholic school cursive would not allow you to slant
Or smudge your words.

So now mine are smudged; a mish-mosh.
Grief, longing, an endless shocking pain.

Capturing your essence in ink
will never be possible,
But I will try.

A heart.
A light saber.
A rainbow swallow.

Each stick of the needle reminding me
there is no afterlife,
and what little time of a life we had.

And these stupid acid tears won't stop
in my forever Silent Spring.