DEATH Poem: Spilling Over, by Richie Magnia-Rohrig

There’s not much room left for you.

But you jump in nose first anyhow,
No matter how I flinch, no matter how I yelp.

You say I shouldn’t be afraid.
It’s not natural.

“…if you’re scared under the water, just find a bubble.”

Spilled over.
Everything is ruined.
Everything is wet.
Wet and ruined.
Things will never be not ruined and not wet.

Words go flat in the mourning. Words go flat when you arrive to an auctioned home.

Sometimes I forget why things got wet in the first place. But I know how your car smells.

I would know exactly who you are if I had just met you or saw how you kiss a child’s head.

Spilling over.
Everything is dry. Not yet wet. But the glass is shaking and…

How long do I have left with you?
How long until I forget your face?
how your car’s smells?
how you kiss a child’s head?
How long until you love me and then hate me and then love me again?
How long until I’m grown and then a child and then grown?
How long until it’s dark and then it’s mourning and then it’s dark?

Will my body make it out?
Will I drown before the sun comes up to dry my wounds?