Your apron smells of cocoa tea
and yesterday's fish . I can't remember how high
or low your voice stretches.
Somehow you sing
one of those old-time Church songs.
2-hour-stale pizza
fills the living room, garlic bread
gnaws at my teeth. You're probably asleep
not thirty minutes from here.
Deb and Napoleon play a game
you wouldn't understand.
It's not like cricket or football.
Mummy told me you called me
"red gyal Stacy".
I laughed
because it was funny
because you recognized me.
We never said how much we love you.
Maybe that's why you slid so fast.
You can't throw slippers at Perez anymore.
Do you ever miss him?
Your birthday passed
with Christ's; all I could give
was a card, which sits next to Pooku
on the dresser, with your pill collection.
I saw you ten days ago.
Your right eye isn't better. I dont
ask Mummy what the doctor said.
Sorry I leave the room so quickly.
Baby powder burns my nose; there are
blankets, wipes and vaseline
where your legs should be.
You're an ox, waiting in bed
for something, perhaps one of your grandchildren.
I don't want to look at you
I'm not ready for you to go.
I should have written this when I was ten
and you still read.
Love, always.
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