THe line in between 

The Line In Between 

 

Fresh dirt

and maybe a bouquet.

Limestone, or granite, or marble—

if you’re lucky.

There’s a birthdate and a deathdate

and the line in between.

You were baptized

a shitty christain at best

heart claiming to be good while

committing unkind acts—

this is the line in between.

You yell at those dearest

and praise the people you hate.

Forgive and forget

that you never said I love you.

This is the line in between. 

Peaking over shoulders

the answer is close, if only

she moved her hand

but half answers don’t answer

the cry of your miserable greed—

even when you get into that college.

This is the line in between.

Tear, oh tears! Stream down,

cry away the truth

of your irrelevance

or maybe pointlessness

or purposelessness.

In the fall they all fall

Down

each beautiful, but raked,

stepped on, broken, lost again

and returned to ash.

This is the line in between.

Maybe

it seemed decent, all in all.

It doesn’t matter. 

Every action, kind word,

Cruel word,

Families built, homes burnt,

Lovers passion and quarrel.

Every one of the landscapes, office chairs, 

glasses of milk, servings of vegetables,

drinks and meals shared, notes passed, calls received. 

Every terrible haircut, ugly laugh, friend lost or gained, word typed,

secret shared, break up, child, parent.

Etched into the stone, almost invisible,

until a curious finger runs over it,

feels the cool groove in the stone.

Noticed but never remembered—

this is the line in between.