Wednesday, June 18, 2008

For Rickie

Coming home from work I wonder
if you will be in the yard.
You always knew when I was coming,
Did you know that you were going?

At home, I step over you
when you're not there.
The doorbell rings and
I almost say, Be quiet.
At bedtime, I wait to see
if you will come in my room
or stay in your cool corner
but you do neither.

(The doctor laid a blanket
on the floor
I lay beside you
my arm around you
until you were no more.)

In my sleep, I see you running,
a black and white blur
against the summer ground,
smiling, running toward me,
almost there.


Anonymous said...

a beautiful poem... keep with the fight michael ann...

Michaelann Bewsee said...

Thanks. i should have a few more good years left in me...