There are things you assume you know—
the waves of emotion,
the choice of conflagration or inhumation,
the cavern in your heart.
But there are things no one tells you—
throwing away the last of the trash,
laundering their final load of clothes,
sleeping in the same house,
shunning nooks and crannies,
removing half-consumed food,
finding secret phone numbers,
taking care of the little dog
(and trying to tell it it’s all okay).
Another thing:
the depth of the cavern,
where once your heart was full,
the chasm left that still hungers
and will starve, till your death, to be sated.
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