dinner is just another way to remember you
These days, the company I keep
are bluebell hauntings swaying in the breeze.
the house is as empty as you left it
It is my own fault
that our hemlock glistens with periwinkle dawn. I mean to say,
the bed on your side is cold
The hour of the remembered returns and tears are not enough
and I count the revolutions of our shared light.
two creams and one sugar
It dims gently in the evening, as easy as morning passing
and returns, more gently than the last.
I have hope to stoke the fires of an eternal sun,
but I fear our furnace cannot be bellowed
by the hands of ghosts.
no, I will stay — I know,
perhaps then I’m
and so --
I keep the company of translucent wildflowers
bending in an invisible wind.
keeping track of time
Of whispering rowans
and secrets we’ve yet to share.
I continue my meal, (alone)
the chair across from me empty,
GABRIEL MIRANDA is a poet, religious anthropologist, and wellness practitioner living in New York City. He spends his days contemplating the myths of the world while working towards his dream of writing his life in poetry. He can be found sharing his spiritual insights and writings on his Instagram @gabrieljonathanmiranda.