I Will Cry

I used to wonder if I would cry when you die.
I'd sit in the basement staring into space, trying to imagine
Your cold skin,
Your tight lips,
Your frozen arms in the casket.

I'd look around your imaginary funeral and find others:
Laughing,
Smiling,
Sobbing,
Hugging.
I'd see me, cold, tight, frozen-
Without emotion.

I would try to make myself feel-
something.
I would try to imagine my life would be
ruined.
I would, after hours, finally and thankfully cry.
Not because I would be sad if you were dead,
but because I felt nothing.

Today, a sharp chill air stops my heart for half a beat.
I imagine you in the machine.
Your cold skin,
Your tight lips,
Your arms frozen at your sides.

What will the doctor find inside your head?
The pain of not doing everything you could?
The shock of too few years left-
or the emptyness of too many years wasted?
Perhaps an imprint of a curse on your lips?
Or the impression of a slap on my face?

Will he see the sadness you hold
because your daughter ever had to wonder?
Your broken spirit when your kindess was rejected?
The mockery that you endured from me,
Or worse, will he find a tumor?

Know this, as you rest on that cold slab,
and as your mind is examined thoroughly...
Without reservation, and without concern
for all the bitterness that lies within,
I will cry.
If you leave, I will cry.