11/365: We Woke Up Without You (a poem for Bowie)
They knocked down the pub
and sold my childhood home,
they've taken almost all the old people I grew up loving
and moved the towns where my elders were born,
they mowed through the covert roost where we buried the kitten,
and they blew up that bridge,
the one I nearly fell through when it was thirty-seven below,
and then, last night, they took you.
all woke up
Part of me believes this isn't how it's done,
that someone's breaking decorum's rules,
and we need to speak with them,
tell them it's not time,
but, then, it's never time, not for anything.
Your tidy fingernails
and your art and your force
and your different eyes:
you told us our stories.
I shook hands with my other selves because of you.
Isn't that a funny thing?
And I want to believe in the madness that calls now
And I want to believe that a light's shining through somehow
And I want to believe
And you want to believe
And we want to believe
And we want to live
Oh, we want to live
We want to live*