Friday --

I remember Fridays
writing letters to the dead,
saying all the things
that I had never said.

And you have to feel it;
the sorrow in my head,
remembering the warmth of you
lying in my bed.

And you have to see it:
the sorrow in my eyes,
remembering the warmth of you
lying by my side.

And you have to hear it:
the sorrow when I said,
"I'll never spend another Friday
writing letters to the dead."