“It’s marked as deceased. No one can do anything with it.”
Those words, overheard just now, they
hurt. Sorrow welled up and
out of my throat.
I covered my face so
my husband wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t
know, because those words hadn’t hit him
The way they hit me.
Two nights ago, a phone call from Texas:
“I’m calling for Christofer J. DeFino,
About a car he just asked about online.”
“He’s gone three years now. It couldn’t have been him.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry.”
My husband said it was our boy pulling a prank, letting us know
he’s still around to do so. I feared someone using
his name,
his identity.
That’s where we are, now. Him and me,
He and I,
Us.
“It’s marked as deceased. No one can do anything with it.”
Social Security, moments ago, assured my husband on the phone.
Upstairs, writing at my computer, I broke
into silent tears. He’ll read this and
He’ll know, silent will no longer
be silent.
They’re here, on this page, screaming.
~TLD
Modesty Is For Suckers 