Gone From My Sight

He has been out of the picture for some time now, enough to slightly forget the sound of his voice.

We hug and we embrace, but remain tacit in the absence.

Crumpled paper builds as dust does in the void, pictures hang and wilt.


Tomorrow is another day.


Things just aren’t as clear anymore.

He wore flannel and smoked cigars as he drank coffee out of a cylindrical container.

Hey forayed lumber with an axe, present happy dog at his side.

He drove tractor until he was entered into the hospice, his garden still produces.


We forget technology when it comes to capturing the norm, things we will miss.

Voices we might forget, facial expressions of bliss.

We forget, we forget.


Film everyday conversations, ask future questions.

New inquisition of the average; boredom doesn’t seem so trivial when its absent.

Times have changed.


Names, dates, and events scattered and deformed, discolored, and depreciated; news to who?  It won’t be news to you anymore. 


She sits and wishes to join him; bedridden, in an empty shell of family epicenter, alone, pseudo-distant relatives approach.

Business is closed, which once flourished, forever.

She wishes the children back home, but they must go.

Alone isn’t alone as we know it.


Leave me alone!-don’t ever wish that…


I pray for the opposite of longevity.

No abundance of years after our loved ones die.

She said she lived through 2 husbands and the rest of the family.  I told her she still has her cat, the dogs,  and us kids.


And then I thought about that list and the order.




The black gnarled-haired cat lounged ever close to her face.  The room was dark, even though the sky was clear the shades were drawn.  Yellowed from smoke and browned with dust, the blinds hung undisturbed as soldiers protecting.  Even though the temperature was pleasant the heat was on, yet not the fireplace.  That labor of love had vanquished with the death of its proprietor.  No more splitting logs for fire.  Humidity drew closer to the bed, and she still covered herself in blankets purple in color, with designs of exotic creatures embroidered on the top most parts.  She would never travel to see them in the wild, those animals would never know her face.  She remained fixed, as happy as she could be, helpless and frail.  In solitude she sat, sinking ever farther into her bed.  


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