Wednesday Morning 2 (Poem)

I will wear your flannel shirts on these mornings

When steam fog rises from the pond

And birdsong weaves through the silent trees.

(Do trees have voices?

I still hear yours, raised in murmured song

As you prepared for the work ahead.

You thought I slept but I was always listening.)

I will prepare hot strong coffee, one cup only,

and drink it black from your favorite cup.

(I always preferred tea but never mentioned,

Wanting to join you in this ritual to begin the day.

Would you have minded? I never thought to ask.)

I will try on your pretty pink shoes

And laugh as I always did when you wore them.

(I loved the way they contrasted with the toughness of the shirts.

You were the only girl I knew who chose such attire.

Did I ever tell you? Now I wish I had done so every morning before you left for work.)

Will, I miss you. I always miss you.

I say this now, and all the things I never said and the questions I never asked

I repeat with every breath.