This Day

How is today any different

from yesterday?

Why, out of three years you’re gone 

that I feel so lost and disconnected 

on the day dedicated to your death?

Each year, I wish you Happy Birthday 

on social media as though

you are still alive.

I could never remember it

when you were still breathing.

Your name can be mentioned 

any time of year, except

on the day dedicated

to your death.

It brings too much pain,

this day,

remembering the phone call. 

You’re gone, they said. 

Gone where?

Within six months of your last breath 

people stopped apologizing.

It was a relief.

A handful of people remember now, 

less and less as the years go by.

I waited for signs, days after you left. 

A robin, a white feather, or butterfly. 

I received none.

Was that your way of saying

you didn’t die?

Questions keep me occupied, 

What are you doing now? 

Are you waiting for us

on the other side of the shore? 

Do you have all the answers? 

Can you tell me why

we live to die?

This day is almost over, 

Tomorrow will be a regular day. 

A day not dedicated to you. 

Tomorrow

you do not die.

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Cover photo by Bernadetta Watts