Tuesday, 21 August 2018

Song to My Father

What is the sound of yesterday? you asked.

I did not know. Perhaps it was a ballad
sung to your mother. Music, passed from her
to you, then passed, unseen, from you to me.

We were the silences between the notes;
the rests which every melody requires.

We sang in different keys and out of time,
chromatic notes which made a harmony
for songs we never shared. Our requiem
to loss. The sound of yesterday, unheard.

1 comment:

  1. absent from one another yet not absent but absent all the same