I woke up to the sound of a garbage truck lifting cans, one after the other, plastic scraping concrete and gears grinding and diesel burning and turning into acrid smoke. The truck drove up with today and away with yesterday.
Your Burberry coat hangs in the closet
The scarf wrapped around the collar
To protect your graceful neck from the London cold.
I like to think you bought that coat
Because I know you would love the antiques there.
It’s so small, that coat.
You were small yet so larger than
Life. So much life.
There are many reminders of you
In my house. Archaeological relics
From trips to Goodwill, the price tags
Still stuck to the bottoms of the teacups
And boxes of silly toys that I can’t bear
To throw away. I’m sorry
We took so long to come back
To be closer to you
To spend holidays and birthdays and weekly visits.
They can only be memories now.
Like the time you bought the Burberry coat
On a cold day in London
While you searched for that perfect teacup.
Your love was a penny
Mine was a dime
And when I tried to make you smile
You looked away
For a while I would wonder
If there was something I could do
Something I could say
Touch you once or twice
Say that right thing
Only the wrong things
You always said you could see
But you never saw
So when it all found its way
My favorite color is gray.