kuhais for right before and after the rain

we met near the neutral ground.
a stray dog walked by.
he belonged to nobody.

the air was heavy with clouds.
we sat on the curb
and we smiled at each other.

i’ve forgotten your last name.
this singular fact
whets the shame of memory.

people cling to tragedies
to claim an honor
that is rightfully no one’s

but it should count for something
that i once knew you
and i’m pretty sure you’re dead now.

the details are uncertain
now that five years passed
the internet has moved on.

i googled you from my work
after katrina
you died from complications.

nothing else to say, i guess,
except i’m sorry
and i wish i tried harder.