I don’t know if you aware of this,
but I cry after our conversations,
which are few and far between.
Your voice grows softer with each
discourse, though your laugh is still
full of joy, and your wit hasn’t lost
its razor edge. I ask how you are,
and defensiveness emerges in your
voice, that question of how much
you’ll reveal because you know why
I call, and I need to convince
myself all parts of you are still
present and accounted for. I know
you’re reconciled with loneliness,
as you hope – one day- I’ll be, but this
is where our paths diverge, as they did
the moment I entered the world,
much to your sorrow and displeasure.
In the meantime, love and filial bonds
are the rule of the hour. What’s left unsaid
is the greatest gift to our shared memory.
About the Poet:
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