You are an anthology
of all the kindness
and all the sadness
you’ve ever felt.
Event invitations not addressed to your name;
Saturday cartoons, summer morning;
big laughs, behind your back;
dim lights, birthday candles (and counting)
amounting to the distinction between loved and lost
every year you’ve lived.
Be reminded that your life
is woven in plush light–
adoration of parents
who loved each other so much
they needed to diversify their affections
Your story began long before you were born
and I’m sorry we ran out of time.
Frantically grasping memories:
no matter how nimble my fingers are,
they can’t turn the clock’s hands
fast enough to bring you back.
Like your broken knuckle,
maybe our bones will reset in place one day.
with an ache always laced in-between, pulsing.