we buried you
in a butterfly grave
in Western Pennsylvania
you were the symptom girl
and I was the cloud boy
you were the second born
and I was the fourth in line
you sat on the last couch
and I read Tolstoy
we listened to the hum of the IV
I had no poems left in me
so I held you between
the morphine and the rain
ten years later
I sit in a parking garage
my head bangs
the steering wheel
and I know that
we are often wrong to die
Joe Barca is a poet from New England. He is married with two children and a wheaten terrier. He has published four short poetry collections. Joe is a fast talker and a slow runner. Joe can be found on twitter @shepherdmoon53 and on instagram at poetblacksmith.