Closures

I mailed her a detailed letter

Told her why I killed love for her

Admitted my mistakes

And she returned the favor

My desk calendar got dusty

A few weeks pass

And in my mailbox in the front yard,

I found the most agonizing battle cry

She was pregnant with my child

When she fell so ill in her mind

And sliced her wrists from bow to stern

(I don’t have a desk calendar)

© 2026 David Greg Harth

26.01.27.16.54.07@345ParkNYC