Harold — A Dream

Empty.jpg

“Empty” — C.Birde, 1/20

 

Last night,

beneath the hard,

fluorescent light,

unexpectedly,

you stopped by.

As I searched

the cabinets’ files,

I described

how,

with infant cradled

in my lap,

I had howled

upon learning

of your death,

and how the guilt

of missing

your service

had clung,

unanswered,

un-absolved.

How

recently I’d found,

the post cards

you’d sent;

of my search

for a photo

of you,

unsatisfied.

You listened.

In combed gray suit,

white-collared shirt,

wine-red tie.

Gray of hair,

gray of eye.

In sympathy,

you listened,

you nodded

and sighed.

And I realized

it was you

to whom I spoke,

you…

The very you who –

twenty-four years ago,

not twenty-five –

had died.

Suddenly,

calmly,

I realized –

that I spoke to you

of you,

that I must be

dreaming…

And you,

you

smiled and

sighed.

 

— C.Birde, 1/19/20

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