Standing at the Seashore
feeling the empty
My head is concrete with the knowledge,
my son is gone,
a long six feet out of reach,
but in my chest,
it's like standing in the ocean.
When I'm still, the waves sneak in
steal the sand from beneath my feet
force me to shuffle,
regain my balance,
lose him all over again.
Sometimes, when my feet have sunk into
the void of diremembrance,
he's still here, and my breath catches
somewhere around my belly button
and waits to meet my heart
as it falls backwards into realization.
He is in everything,
everything but his crib and my arms,
and they ache
with the acceptance of
beauty and emptiness.
I close my eyes, unsure,
and count the rises of his chest
forgetting that he's gone,
remembering the warmth reality stole.
All that's left is