Gobsmack

You showed up breathless at my bedroom door weary from seventeen years of haunting. I still had four items left to strikeout on my to-do list but had the presence of mind to tuck the notebook under the mattress. No sense in resurrecting old grievances in this singular moment and the truth is, I’ve become more organized as time has passed. My day had gone perfectly according to plan except that I had failed to include reunite with dead sister at 9pm. Your hair was still a glorious forest fire and if I could have buried my face in it, I would have done so immediately. I wanted to hold your hand but my wrist had a mind of its own.  I could not move and so I sat, fifty years old now and gobsmacked into silence listening to your voice running circles around the room.  ​