“Five Months Later”


Five months later, and you’re still dead
As if it were still funny, still fresh, still new
Five months later, and the demons have spread
As if I let my guard down, as if it were still true

Five months later, and the well-wishing has stopped
Already, as if your death is passé
Five months later, and the world has gone on
But we’re trapped in the hold of that day

Five months – and the careless things people say
Only multiply: “you’re so lucky, to have a home,
A place to stay” – when home has died
And we saw it ripped from her body with our own eyes

09/29/16 – Emma Dumitra.


[She listens to the rain]


She listens to the rain,
quiet and dark,
in a world that will one day be green again.

Each pedestrian moment
doesn’t look both ways before it crosses
into her oblivion,
and of time she understands too little to say.

The numb statistics do not penetrate,
and she wonders
why society seems to love people more
when they’re dead.

Written November 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Image from kurodot.deviantart.com. 



Science refuses to see
what music explains in simplicity:
I am more than the sum of my parts.

The sight of flailing ashes
under dying embers
leads me to believe

that everything we know will blow away.
All the things we see
are finite in a world of infinity.
All that’s left is the memory
of embers and synergy,
but I am more than the ending of ashes,
the fluke of a freak reaction.

Music refuses to see,
for whatever the mathematics of notes may be,
they are not the creators of melody.

We are more than what remains when we leave.

Written September 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Image from commons.wikimedia.org.