the only truth is grief and grief is the sound of silence


    in memory of Anthony WG
          some say it was selfish to leave
          a family bereft—left to identify
          the body’s bold scars
          a young life snuffed with blood
          on no hands but its own
          but I know we can’t measure the truth
          of your suffering
          even when the shiva house
          is full of guests saying the
          customary Baruch Dayan
          the only tangible truth is the grief, and the grief-
          now a noose with your name, and your name-
          a call with no response
          even if it’s shouted in a
          hundred different timbres
          from lungs teeming
          with the toxic soot of losing the last
          person I thought I’d be