The Presence of Your Weight

November 17, 2009

I miss the presence of your weight
And trips down number eight to get the paper.
Past the Zayer’s that is now closed
Like the place inside me where you reigned.
The truck was warm and the passing
Yards and trees seemed so much larger then.
Now nothing outflanks the vast space
Growing since you were ripped away to die
As millions of others do each stretch of time
That seems to last forever while I cry.

I miss the glass that you handed me that
I dropped, shattering on the floor as
You stroked my hair and said “it’s alright precious.”
Cleaning up the mess I
Tried my best not to seem upset.
Life seemed so long and spacious
Never did I realize it would end in nothing.

I miss the farmer’s market on Saturdays
A real piece of work where the air
Was not the freshest thing around.
The people were plain, not like the plastic
Self-serving world that has sprung up since you went
To a place where trees are not dying nor children crying
As the presence of despair cleaves them in two.

I miss the ocean you could bring to me.
The surges would greet us and
Standing on the shore as you cast a line
I watched, wondering what pleasures were subsumed.
Running behind you on the sand after I ate cereal
You told me the weight of the world brings you down
So now I take the advice and the memories
I have put up with the tears and when I cry
I remember how you stroked my hair and
Said “it’s aright precious. it’s alright.”


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