by Patricia Pierce
Today is one of those days
I trek to your final spot,
Near the bend in the highway,
Where the curb and the light pole
Bear chipped scars.
I lay my head against your hand-hewn cross.
Fingers dig into the moist soil,
Unable to forget the night of your death,
My sobs soak into nearby sprigs of green.
I flip through Harley magazines
That show black leather and tell stories,
Watch the pictures and captions blue into you.
Today is one of those days
I feel the familiar flush of love and loss.
Today is one of those days
I miss you all over again.
