euphemism

by Dava sitkoff

inside the uncanny valley of my memory,

lies your time, made fleeting

by getting better, moving on, recovery.

stability should close the gaps,

yet the quake rages, all to reject fire,

or end vain pleas for hollow sympathy.

the irony of reappearance

should be a morbid inside joke, yet only i understand

how this pulls me towards the seismic chasm.

perhaps only halfway into magma, lava--

but at least, your heedlessness owes me

volcanic euphemism for what we’ve lost.