Dusk

I gave you my grandmother's blanket to curl up on

for the last hours of the day.

As you snooze, I remember how you used to hop up on the ledge for a

pet from my father in the morning or how you used to run away

scared at the sound of someone opening a coke can.

You used to be so tiny, but the void you leave now is vast.

Through breakups and divorce,

From a bohemian apartment to my parents’ basement to the first

space that truly felt like mine,

when I was collapsing and screaming at the moon,

or as a virus keeps us inside,

you have always been there to cuddle up on my chest and remind me

through sounds of content that all is not lost.

I can see you're exhausted now.

I can see the weariness in your eyes

as you make your way to join them:

my grandparents, my teachers, my mentors. The songs that made me

cry and the songs that saved my life.

It's almost dusk now.

The sun is dipping below the horizon,

close your eyes.

Take my love with you.

And let me sing you to sleep.

From Slip Away, a book of poems