turn on the night light

 We sat in silence in Room 1220, the bustling of the nurses feet and the machines around us filled the space.  beep, beep, beep.  On other sides of the room  as we awaited  your final return.  The hope from his mother filled the air, his life flashing before her eyes, and all she wanted for his future, her bright, shining boy.  I wish I could have  shared that with her, sitting in the chair by the window.  I could not see him in that future. A mere shadow  stood across from me  at the altar.  An empty figure  sat with me at the dinner table, and next to me at the bar. A clouded presence was all I saw  when I was teaching my children to cook our family meal.  I knew he was gone, and I had 32 more minutes until I was proven right. Until then, we sat in silence. 

As the wind blows  The tiny hairs  Along my face, Across my nose, I look across to see  A squirrel.  And in its eyes, I think it knows,  The winter is near. The leaves will fall,  And the pile grows.  But as the wind blows,  The chill goes low,  And I bundle up warm,  From my ears to my toes, And I look down to see  That the edges of my tea  Have grown cold. I remember to take a sip And the inner warmth flows.

I remember the curves of your face,  The edges of your smile and your chin  Where the thick bristle of beard hairs  Sat unkempt and untrimmed.  I remember the blues and greens  In your eyes When you looked at me  Behind the long lashes I envied, The ones I dreamed our children Would one day have.  I remember the brown hair You kept dirty and wild, Always wondering how long You could let it grow.  I now memorize the edges  Of your stone,  Curves of Cold marble that sits  And tingles my fingertips when I graze them to say hello.  The blues and greens  Now surround you, From the infinite skies  To the grass that's now Grown on the mound you Lie beneath.  The copper browns we see  Now state  Your name,  The dates,  And the words that will forever  Identify who you were  To the world.  I still see you in color, But the canvases  Had to change. 

 Not every mother neglects And not every father threatens Not every lover will leave because You cry too much And not every friend will resent Because your opinions change. Like in every bushel There are a few bad apples That make you believe the rest Will go bad.