I can’t escape you

When I see a car like yours

I always search the driver’s seat but

It’s never you.

Or I read a piece of fiction

Thinking of the conversation

It would generate until I remember

I won’t see you today

For reasons that are hurtful.

I sit outside

Watching the cabbage whites

Taste the nectar of the tomato flowers

And I wonder if your plants are thriving

Or if they are growing only leaves

But never fruit.

And when I open the door

Leaving it in an inviting state

For whoever is coming

I think of you standing in my kitchen

Slicing up the meals you cooked

Pulling strips of meat from the foil

And sucking juice from your fingers.

And even in my moments of reverence

You are still there

Like a wound left unattended

And all the peace I try to cultivate

Bubbles and churns while I think of you

As I try to pray, but cry instead

And wish I could release

The things that will never be.

I can’t escape you

You are a part of me now

As much a piece of my story

As my mother or my children.

I would never change that.

But I burn with hope that one day

I can see a car like yours

Or a book, or a tomato plant

And not feel this desperate sadness.