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.