The Purpose

He’s gone

And I can’t remember the last thing I said to him

How long did I not have any words for him?

Besides the vitriol I spewed here in 2012.

I keep telling everybody “He fulfilled his purpose.”

Maybe I’d actually know the purpose he strived for

Had we exchanged real thoughts

If only I tried, not to roll my eyes.  

I wish I could find out-

If he mentally prioritised in his final moments

The agony of pain or

the vacuum of a mute granddaughter. 

You know 

My feelings are just hyperbole at this point 

Weren’t they always?

So am I tearing up because I miss him?

Or is it the guilt

That most days I just don’t have it in me

To be a good person. 

And then one day

I will too just be ashes,

Reduced by the conflagration we call Life,

Flowing down a filthy and incurable “holy” river 

(Perfect for washing away my sins!)

And someone with a fraction of my DNA

Will share their empty words to convey

They can’t remember the last thing they said to me.