The Last Goodbye
When the world shifts on its axis
The morning, she left us behind,
I learned what emptiness sounds like.
Silence fills every corner,
heavy and unforgiving.
Her hands that once checked my fever
lie folded beneath church flowers.
I search for her in every room,
calling out to furniture and photographs.
The woman who made scrambled eggs
at midnight when her son came home late,
who knew my heartbreak before I spoke
gone into a place I cannot follow.
She carried my fears so I could sleep.
She swallowed her pain so I could laugh.
All those years she stood between me
and everything sharp in this world.
Now I face the kitchen alone,
forgetting how she made her coffee,
how she ironed my school shirts,
the exact words she used when I doubted myself.
Her voice lives in my voicemails.
Her sweater still holds her shape.
I have her rings and taste the sadness
when I remember she'll never age.
The mother who sang off-key lullabies,
who saved my report cards,
who believed I could conquer anything,
she made me brave by loving me first.
I will carry her forward now,
the way she carried me once,
becoming the man, she saw
when she looked at me with those eyes.
Her legacy runs through my veins.
Fierce protection an endless forgiveness
the knowledge that love never dies,
even when the heart stops beating.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Let your becoming be louder than your fear, and your smallest steps become the road you once thought impossible to walk. An Appalachian poet and cookbook author my book Beautiful and Brutal Things is on Amazon, Link 👇
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