For My Sister (Emily Carlson Ware)

You left a monstrous hole
I am climbing out of.
The walls are steep
and slick with some kind of wet.
It could be tears.

Up to now, I have only cried once.
It was not enough,
though the flow was unusually heavy.
Now the weight bears down
of emptiness, of loss and of living.

What could I say, if now, we had conversation?
It would not be long,
but inevitably would last for years,
the cost of love
paid yearly in Christmas installments
or, perhaps, in wear.