We had it all wrong.
The battles, the stories, the justifications
Yellowed pages in a history book we’re embarrassed to admit
we once committed to memory.
This is the curse of the still living
in tailored black suits lined up at the grave.
The role of the villain, the saint, the victim, the convict buried
Six feet down.
Above, their vacated bodies scramble
like ants looking for a way
back into their waterlogged home,
if not to re-inhabit,
to claim their casualties.
We had it all.