I wanted to be a part of your family at the Fourth of July picnic that’s crazy like a circus, at your sister’s table on holidays, by your side on Christmas morning. I had dreams of all of these things in my life, and now I look past tomorrow and see nothing but darkness. I’m spaced out in shock, still not wanting to accept it’s over, regarding re-entry into real life as an assault, because how do I live without you? How I go days without talking to you? I won’t be going to your niece’s wedding next year. I won’t get to hear your aunt’s stories about her National Geographic trip to Antartica. I won’t be sitting beside you in dueling recliners near death, holding your hand across space and time, loving you til the last. It’s over, but you’re not gone.
Today’s poetry prompt words were: the circus, re-entry, and Antarctica.