by Zachariah Lanza
I missed you tonight when I saw her hands,
Wrinkled and old but still young in spirit and I wish you were here.
It’s when I smell that lavender it all floods back,
Sitting on the side of my bed telling me stories before I slept.
Wake up in the morning and the table is already set.
Now you sit on your own,
Stuck in your head.
What a loss,
Unable to come to terms with the fact that she’s dead.
Hard to remember the good bits.
Still hands and breathing equipment,
I said goodbye.