A Screwdriver

One screwdriver.

That's the only thing of hers left in our old apartment

In the place where empty laughs echoed through the minuscule hallway,

Where we played tic tac toe on our arms,

Doodled on the walls and repainted them purple

Broke ice and hearts on tales of needlework

Screamed until our lungs burned

At least mine did.

She had used that screwdriver to unscrew our dusty vent,

We inhaled decades of grime, coughing and laughing

We gasped when we found a mouse, dead

She cried when she saw it

A Phillips head screwdriver

It came with screws and everything! But

She never used them

She told me to throw out the mouse,

After, she buried her head in my shirt and murmured about death

She wanted to stay with me forever, she said

To never die, to be immortal

I told her it was just a mouse.

It was a Tuesday when she

When

S h e

I can't--

Tuesday. It was a Tuesday.

It was only a mouse.

It was only an argument.

It was only... a screwdriver.

When she died, she left me that screwdriver

As a sort of "screw you."