Absence

I had this thought, some hours after the news,

once in bed, the tears since sunk into cheek and jaw,

clenched behind my closing eyes.

I had this thought, as troubled dreams rose up

to meet my working daylight mind, this man

whose face in sleep fell heaven-poised in grief.

I had this thought as hopeless rage still sat

uneasy in my heart, unvoiced in my throat,

an inedible stone in my gut.

I had this thought I’d never had before, of someone

not my own, not my child, my parent, my wife,

not family in all my sixty years alive.

I had this thought of all the minutes I might have left,

the hours still in hand yet never mine to give,

the days only I could take that he should have needed more.

I had this thought my years were done, my time enough,

whatever unknown count I might have left was something I would hand

to a kid I’d only known before me in my class.

I had this thought, of this sweet young man,

his easy smile and calming grace, that one rare kid

you know you’ll seek in years to come.

I had this thought, of what I’d thought,

that he would grow up wiser than us all,

might be the one who taught us something new.

I had this thought that he would have no more.