Life never promised clean closures and tidy –
like perfect Christmas bows –
Grief is a fickle, unfathomable guest who
tip-toes away in the night
set my feet,
like those of a wobbly fawn,
on the slickest of
Flailing, grasping –
the impending impact with sorrow wounds
Yet by its nature
by those around.
No wise words find their way to me now….
Rhythmic crunching of salt-sprinkled chips
overrule a sensible gym workout,
as I sit in silent solitude
listening intently for the indelible echoes of your
Time stands still in the daily
of the magnificent and the mundane
We miss you terribly, Chris –
and wonder when we truly first
Rest in Peace, Chris. You will always be in our hearts.
11/18/56 – 12/12/11