I should be vacuuming the dog hair on the floor,
Or finishing the yards of paperwork
On the table by the door,
But I’m missing you today.
True, a little less than last year,
But still, I hold the tears at bay
Inside the empty space that once held fear,
And urgent hope that you’d get well.
Most of all, I want you here.
I want more talks at dinner or beside the fire,
More hugs, more kisses,
More laughter, more jokes at who was higher;
You with your medical pot,
And me with my French wine,
Arguing over what it was, what it was not.
And then, outside my mind beyond my walls,
I see you dancing in the wind,
Showing me how the dead are not the ones who fall,
That we are forever, you and I,
Always laughing, always free,
I hear your whisper in my mind, ” It’s impossible to really die.”
copyright (c) Susannah Morgan March 14, 2010, 2011.