you were always into god

emma dornburgh

​

i have never been religious

but you were

so i’m sitting here, clutching a cross

hoping that maybe

if i hold it you’ll answer me

 

you don’t.

 

i saw you in my dream again last night

and you were reading a magazine

you looked the way you had

right before things got bad

 

that week we scratched lottery tickets,

and you were skeletal

but i ignored it 

it was my last birthday.

 

i have never been religious

but if believing in a higher power means

that you’re watching

then i’ll worship on my knees

until they ache

and my fingers are locked around each other.

but i don’t understand why a god that “loved us all”

would ever do that to you

maybe you just always did things your way.

 

i miss you a lot these days

and it’s not helping

that everytime you visit

you stare

all you do is stare and last night

was the first time you had spoken to me

but you didn’t even say you miss me

it’s gutting because all i do is miss you

and you just want me to leave in my conditioner longer

after 2 months.

today is the 2 month anniversary

and i’m wearing the ring you gave me

that only fits my pinky

that carries more belief than the bible 

that weighed a million pounds in the hall by your room

 

i remember sleeping in that room

after your husband died i felt watched in that room

i don’t think he ever left you

 

i remember sleeping in the pink room

waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon

to go and watch the thanksgiving parade in the living room

 

i remember sleeping in the blue room

drinking chocolate milk after you went to bed

and forgetting about how scared i was to start school 

because i would be all alone.

 

i remember the way you clung to chairs that last year

you couldn’t hold yourself up much

i could see all your veins

i hate the way that year 

overshadows all the time before

 

all i want to remember is the before.

 

i’m calling you from the ground

bare feet in the cold dirt

hoping you’ll answer me

just once

 

i’ve never been religious

but you always wanted to take me to church

you told me

and i was eating ice cream in the backseat

 

why do you keep staring at me

i’m always the only one who sees you

but you never say anything

i have never felt guiltier for not calling

but if i had called that morning

i wouldn’t have heard your voice

if i called that morning

you wouldn’t have heard mine

because i can barely hear myself now

and you’ve been gone 2 months

 

i’ve never been religious 

but if believing in god 

would bring you back,

i’d get on my knees in a church 

and taste the being of christ

and pray until my throat was hoarse

if it meant i’d wake up to see you alive

 

i don’t know if there’s anything worse

than knowing you’re completely gone

and it’s eating me alive.

 

and i hated your funeral

because all i did was cry

and people kept hugging me

when the only thing i possibly wanted was to not be staring at a picture of you 

and that box with stained glass

 

i want to go back

back to baking cakes in your kitchen

back to shopping for quinn’s birthday

back to playing mario kart while you watched Days Of Our Lives, season 1,000 or whatever

back to awkward calls ending in promises of time together

back to saving you a seat so you could watch my play

back to playing surgeon games on my kindle on your couch that first summer

back to being caught taking a big spoon of cookie dough from the fridge

back to basement renovations

back to bikes down the driveway

back to walks to the post office

back to whatever i wanted for christmas because i think i was your favorite even now

back to stewart’s coffee

back to when you could breathe on your own

back to when i didn’t have to go to sleep to see your face.