When Presence Ceases

His tea spilled,

He asked for more,

His mother sent him away.

He made a cry-face.

He had lost something precious.

I imagine him desirous to relish the rest of the beverage while it still sat in his cup.

But it’s all gone,

His beverage is spilled,

So was it when SAS died.

I desired to see him watch me grow into a young man.

He had a lot to say to me,

But for my age.

Loss can be such a misery — whether some beverage or a dad.

Just this morning, his beverage spilled,

11 years ago, SAS passed on…

Posted in: life, Poetry

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