Mar 15, 2019

'In the 703 days since you died'

In the 703 days since you died
I have slowly gotten stronger.
I no long weep every day, just some days.
Of course, I think of you every day,
But most often it is the good memories
Slipping in, not the horror of heroin, meth,
And a heart that couldn't bear the load.
-You, at 5, interrupting a poetry reading
To ask the poet if he “had any Rumi.”
-You, at 7, up on a fire lookout tower,
With all the forest below you, asking me,
“Am I the King now?”
-Your band playing a gig in a basement,
While you banged away on the drum kit.
703 days. I have a lot to do on day #704.
The patio needs cleaning. Laundry.
There is a project where I need to finish
Writing my application. Other things, too.
But it can all wait while I write
One more poem for you. One small poem.
My dear son.

08 October 2018
15 March 2019

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