We thought she was half-baked
from the medication
self-control had become overrun with
madness, forgetfulness
all those little pills to kill
the overbearing cancer
little objects found in odd places
left us wondering
‘Why would she do that?’
a ring hidden on a shelf
no one would ever find
unless they got an itch
to dust a shelf no one ever paid
attention to
an old bus pass underneath a basket
on top of the piano
we have since come to believe
to understand, rather
it was all done with purpose, not madness
as little reminders of her because
she was so afraid we might forget

– Ken Tomaro

Author’s Note: Much of my poetry is grounded in real life. This particular poem is the result of the death of a friend and a small glimpse of what happened afterward