A Remembrance

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It is an odd thing indeed
No anniversary words
No celebratory ones either
No collective remembering
No mourning
Not out loud, at least

Though we do not speak of him
He makes his presence felt
I find myself speaking to him
Recalling some event with him
As if he was still right there

The feeling that I bumped him
With the refrigerator door
He’s following me too closely in the kitchen
My sudden yen for liver and fry dumplings
Followed by my words, “remember how you used to like liver and fry dumplings”
Then I caught myself,
remembering that he’s not here

Maybe this thing I’m feeling
that nobody is speaking
Is really not the case
Maybe you just come and go
Stepping in and out of demensions
Conversing, poking individual memories
Which is rememberance just the same

A stout micropoem for myself for Thotpurge Micropoetry Month