I am distracted by my toes,
Which twitch with no apparent reason
As thyroid therapy performs its work.
I’d make a joke about it to you,
But you’re not here
And will not be here, not tonight,
Not in the morning, never.
Soon four weeks will have passed
Since my son first told me, dry-eyed,
Sitting across from my hospital bed,
Keeping control for my sake.
I’m sleeping on your side now,
My head on your pillows, my body
Nestled in the hollow yours once made
In this mattress you never liked.
Today, as on the day you died,
My brain cannot grasp the loss,
Cannot absorb that you are gone.
But my body understands;
My body knows it’s incomplete
And will never be complete again.
©2013 John I. Blair