Seeing

Please try to not forget that

I see you, each and every day. 

In every armchair I see all of

the stories you told, in every

teacup is the scalding brew 

you drank, in every outdoor 

endeavor is your disdain for the 

cold, but love of walking dogs,

of your breath in the air on frosty

mornings and the lights of the garden. 
Every television plays

a loop of Westerns and reruns 

of Irish standup comedy, on

every plate sits biscuits, every 

microwave is always set to two

minutes, for how could anything 

ever be warm enough until it

burnt through two towels and some

denim?
In every pair of hands 

I can’t help but see yours, 

turning newspaper pages, 

finishing crossword puzzles,

and perhaps what frightens 

me the most are the unfinished 

ones, that will now wait 

forever to be finished, always 

a piece missing, 
how desperately appropriate.

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