Brooke Forbes

You’re not intertwined in this memory, 

in this beautifully measured moment,

in the sweetness

of the air

or firmness of the earth. 

You’re not here,

not present,

not conjured, 

like a spirit,

lost in a disturbed form of evanescence. 

You’re not like a grandfather clock,

dominating this time or space. 

Your rhythm here is bare,

you don’t move through matter,

like you used to,

in moments shared.

I can’t think of a time where you sparked joy,

anymore,

it’s erased through absence,

a lacking,

a knowledge that two paths have diverged. 

In this absence of a moment,

in a memory lacking vibrancy and warmth,

you may still be found within the cracks,

of an existence,

but in an unusual way –

in a silence,

in a longing,

in that feeling of trying to use a numb limb –

lifeless,

tingling,

almost forgotten.