Untitled Poem by Stephanie Blake

Every night they relive their loved ones death
I sleep with him confined in my necklace
his ash against my skin

memories like old films play through my mind
I read his books like a ghost he left behind
each word like his voice echoing in my mind

I feel his hand pressed against my palm
the smell of the hospital room in my breath
He'll be okay, the nurses said

then, a scalpel pressed against my grandfathers chest
a rush of doctors and the terrible sound of mashines
my gut tells me its over and the aneurism breaks
they close his eyes as his spirit dissipates