P h o t o g r a p h i n g   H i m   D e a d

Was it your way of understanding, when
You took that photo of him waxy in his box? Or
Was it your way of saying Don’t go. Don’t leave
Me. We have unfinished business? Hold
On to the image. It was never
Destroyed, ripped into a million
Tiny squares and binned. It’s burned
In your amygdala. You don’t
Need colour gloss, exact
Replication, photographic
Evidence to document your loss.

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First appeared in The Sentinel Poetry Quarterly, June 2005