When Poets Die on Facebook

I think your poetry is packed
away somewhere under old math homework
mating,
and creating little rhyming equations in iambic pentameter
most of which are,
of course,
unsolvable.

The only thing I found written in your hand
was an email address you said I could send poetry to

I found this very fitting
since I learned of your untimely death via
a Facebook update.

No one knew your password.
We assumed it had something to do with a pet
or an inside joke
The page was left untouched
just like your mother left your room.
It’s a bit messy, really,
and there are way too many notifications
to wade through by now:
missing you’s
and reminders of how old you should be today

but you should know:
Your privacy settings need updating.
Your relationship status is complicated.
We consider your final words to be

“going out to the river for a bit.
brb”

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