The Year of Firsts
The year of firsts ends today,
What is this current year?
A year of seconds?
Is there a label for future years?
How did a year pass so fast
And yet so painfully slow?
I relived each day—
Three hundred and sixty-five.
Not wanting to remember,
Not wanting to forget
You walking through the door,
Your smile betraying antics.
We mucked with Mother Nature.
Did we do too much?
Did we do too little?
Guilt consumes my soul.
Flowers withered, trinkets exist,
Photos and memories abound,
Remains encased in silver or bronze
And within a wooden tomb.
A headstone highlights your grave,
Sun dancing upon blue and grey,
But you are as scattered and hidden
As your cans of empty beer.
Nine months I carried you,
Today I carry you ‘round my neck
And within my heart and mind,
Your death etched upon my face.
The first horrid year ends today
But every breath brings more,
You’ll remain an eternal mirage,
Forever unreachable until I die.