the plea is simple
stop everything at seven sharp
light a candle to remember
that is what we do
we bring light
to fight the darkness
of loss
of grief
of life gone out

and i would
oh, i would in a heartbeat
but i have no candle
only the small flame
that flickers in memory

the quiet pain
the boundless love
we shared for ninety minutes
with that small imperfect boy
the one we took turns holding
until we couldn’t hold him back
and he was gone

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—j.lewis is an internationally published poet, musician, and nurse practitioner. His poetry and music reflect the complexity of human interactions, sometimes drawing inspiration from his experience in healthcare. When he is not otherwise occupied, he is often on a kayak, exploring and photographing the waterways near his home in California.

One Response

  1. Roland Petrov
    at · Reply

    My mother’s first was a premature boy, a brother I never got to know. I can relate to this lovely poignant poem.

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