Letter for Michael

 

I am writing the Monday after you died.
You don’t need me to write down these words.
I do.  You will know them magically.
 
I feel so lucky that I saw you a few short months ago.
I didn’t know it was the last time.
That was lucky, too.
 
We overlooked each other’s infirmities.
Gladness rocked our first view of each other
in the airport parking lot—
 
You, a decade older than me, driving.
I gave up driving this year. Bless your wife, Laura,
who didn’t want you to give up driving or anything else. 
 
You still met with students, and took your 2-mile walk every afternoon.
We went to museums, gardens, restaurants, and a show together
as a three-some, and spent some time alone, too.
 
For me, this was vacation.  I sank into fun, rest, good food, and acceptance
which were your and Laura’s gifts to me—acceptance and mutual admiration—
a gentleness and kindness that are the opposite of pity. 
 
I have loved you all my life, and will continue into my death. 
You are have always been a happiness to me, Michael.
Your memory is a blessing.

 My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2025 Susan L. Chast