Poem for Bob

His voice is just a
trickle…

I can hear him saying my name.
There is a sparkle in his eye
and that half smile.
Each time.
Always.

He is my old cardigan sweater
that I drape around
my memories
trying to keep warm from this coldness.
The thought of him reminds me
of stars
and longing.

The way life used to be.

As I would pedal my bike over, across the same
old streets of home.
Knowing he would answer the door.

 

~Miriam 10-9-10

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About miriamclimenhaga

http://miriamgraceclimenhaga.posterous.com/
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