Poem: The day after the tragedy
The day after the tragedy,
I sat on my bed, waiting for sunrise.
I climbed off my bed and slipped on my slippers.
I rinsed the dishes and did the laundry.
I fried some eggs and sprinkled some salt on them.
I slotted the bread in the toaster and waited for it to become toast.
I washed an orange and squeezed it into a juice glass.
I washed the pan, I washed the dishes, I cleaned the stove.
Just like the day I left.
The morning was splendid.
The day after the tragedy,
I sat in the park, waiting for someone to sit beside me.
I watched a jogger run past me, he didn’t even glance my way.
I watched a dog walker stride past me, the dog didn’t even bark at me.
I watched a toddler waddle past me, the child pointed at the apple tree behind me.
I really enjoyed sitting in the park.
Just like the day I left.
The day after the tragedy,
I settled on the couch, waiting for my family to utter a word.
My mom, who was clutching one of my watches, scrubbed it over and over until she couldn’t.
The watch was spotless, it was sparkling, but it was frozen at the time I left.
My dad, who was holding a note I wrote, read it over and over until he couldn’t.
The note was mundane, it was crumpled, but the ink was still as vivid as the day I left.
My brother, who was holding a pen of mine, clicked it over and over until he couldn’t.
The pen wasn’t very expensive, it was flawed, but the ink flowed as smoothly as the day I left.
The room was silent, I could hear a pin drop.
I liked sitting on the couch.
Just like the day I left.
The day after the tragedy.
I tried talking to the body in the morgue.
I smiled at him.
I talked about the sunrise, I talked about breakfast.
I talked about the jogger, I talked about the dog walker.
I talked about the couch, I talked about his parents.
The day after the tragedy.
I sat next to my coffin.
It was drizzling, everyone held an umbrella.
I perched on my tombstone, waiting for them to leave, waiting for the rain to end.
I regretted what I had done, I tried to reenter the body.
But all there was,
Dead silence.
Inspiration from the poem——The Morning After I Killed Myself by Meggie Royer