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I didn’t even know the guy that well,

a cousin’s friend who drank himself to sleep.

But here I am, trapped in this wooden shell

with promises I’m not quite sure I’ll keep.

The gold leaf edges of the book are slick,

my thumb is searching for a common grace.

I’m trying to keep up, but I’m not quick,

a stranger with a tight and tired face.

I find a frayed silk ribbon tucked inside

at page four hundred two, a wedding song.

Some happy couple used this as their guide

before everything started going wrong.

It’s heavy as a brick against my palm,

this list of things we’re supposed to believe.

I stand here in the artificial calm

and wipe the dust of someone on my sleeve.