News of death

the news of death falls on one like
the coming down of a brick wall;
if the weight doesn’t kill-
you’re flat-footed with the struggle.
veins begin to grow out of your body
like branches. only,
after a moment, you don’t sprout.
you crash! splattering
in different splashes of red.
for a loved one,
you die every time you remember.
for a neighbour
you’re robed in fear
with questions you’d never answer, like
‘was i absent when IT came’?
‘did IT call my name at the parking lot’?
like a birth mark, it never goes away
we die every time we remember.

leonell echa