Passing Holmberg’s just like any other day,
but today is different.
But why today?
Last week I was fine, even happy, a
pillar of that sad, calming joy
that comes at times.
I want to be sad sometimes. I wish I
thought of her more, that every day
I could have a little tidbit of memory.
Because forgetting would be the worst thing of all.
Remember, every time I hiccup, every time I sing,
every time I find a good book (she had a knack
for picking them out).
Be grateful for that day
passing the orchard,
and my stomach tightened with the weight of her presence.