past 11, “i hate family weddings”,
i want to shout. irritated, i daub cotton on
stubborn mascara eyes-
“…a job in the north. L.
he will be leaving” a découpage of murmurs-
hair untoweled, i rush outside
“what’s his name again?” dad asks,
“L,” and suddenly the sky comes crashing black
“you sure, Mr. X, it’s him leaving?” the words choke-
“guy in the green ‘ouse? him? you talkin’ ’bout him?”
“why yes!”
“when?”
my mouth is so dry i can
almost taste blood and
his reply stings the super moon.
and her amber is lost.
i hold my head in my hands.
to stem the spinning.
retch. suck in parcels of no-oxygen.
the streets fall bare.
i can’t cry.
past midnight
past morning
i sway in a rhythm, sleep hanged,
spent on pills, afraid-
if i let go of my knees,
if i even move the tiniest fraction of an inch
i might physically break.
©Mohana Das
insanebloom 
oh heck…intense emotions in this.. there are def. people that we don’t want to move away
What an intense description of this feeling of loss. Just went out last night with a friend whose husband has suddenly had to move abroad with his work and she can’t follow, and her children have all just left the nest as well. I think she felt something very similar to what you have captured in this poem.
I felt it too, Mohana. There are people that leave that void, in the pit of your stomach, when they must go. It hurts.
“to stem the spinning retch” So intense. Could feel it.