In Memory of Matthew. Thirty-eight months gone.
The eleventh of the month arrives too soon,
It’s as if my life’s timed by the moon,
By the number of nights it lights the sky,
This horrible reminder that he did die.
Yesterday, on Mother’s Day,
I looked above and imagined a way
I could borrow Mom’s sunshiny star
And whisk her away in a red sports car.
Today, I wonder about Matt’s star,
Whether big or small and how far,
Stars sometimes look close and near,
Those are the ones I hold dear.
I see many such lights above,
All of whom I dearly love,
Mother and father and my son,
I pray for them when day is done.
If Matt were a shooting star,
He’d land on earth and we would spar,
Others would come, joining in,
Everyone sporting a ginormous grin.
Alas, too much make-believe,
Those shining stars never leave,
Oh, they may hide or dim their lights,
But they’re always around, days and nights.
Tonight, I’ll search for the star that’s Matt,
The strongest one, not one that’s fat,
For he exercised daily, cared about his body,
Never ever would he look shoddy.
His star will be full of frolicking fun,
Spouting jokes and sharing a pun,
I know I’ll see him twinkling there,
I have no doubt I’ll find him. I swear.