The Afterlife
The Afterlife
It was death when you left, meaning everything
Since then has been the afterlife.
I walked through hell, amazed that I could walk at all.
I couldn’t meet the eyes of those I met there.
I knew the same pain I saw in their eyes burned in mine.
But in time I found I could stop and talk with them.
One night I met a woman. She had it worse than I did —
He hadn’t left her. He’d died. We walked together
Like convalescents in a garden, my hand filled with
The wonder of hers, hers filled with the wonder of mine.
The others noticed, gave us hopeful smiles. But like
The mothers of hostages, we had nothing in common
But our pain. What’s strange was how sure we were
We were in hell. We weren’t in hell. We’d survived.