It’s 12:30AM on Monday
three weeks after the fact
and I’m wide awake
and drowning in missing you.
Because when memories are all you have,
you will cling to them like a beggar.
I will keep your laughter tucked into my chest
and rest my cheek on
that night we went to Denny’s and the waiter forgot my water.
I was thirsty and annoyed,
but you understood better than
anyone what would make me laugh.
What would make me forget.
And when my father was sick
lying weak in a tiny hospital bed,
you knew somehow that silence
was the best comfort you could offer me.
As more time passed, that comfort grew disquieting.
Now, it is 11AM on Monday,
eight months after the fact.
The silence has grown much
Less deafening. It has settled.
Please do not break it now.
