The Thing I Didn't Say

The flowers were bright and arranged just right,

like grief could be made into something neat,

and I stood there under the light,

staring down at my feet.

There was a moment when everyone stilled,

when the silence became something real,

when the space that needed to be filled

was the one I was meant to heal.

I opened my mouth. Then I didn't.

I don't know why I stayed so small,

maybe I thought that I wasn't

supposed to speak at all.

Now there's a text with a photo from that day,

and I'm looking at the back of my head,

at all the things I didn't say,

still living inside me instead.