Dates

For some time now and with some morbid curiosity I have been examining dates. As I surf the web, I look for the date that my father died. Or see a date when he was still alive. Dates float around the day he died. It makes me wonder if he knew the thing that happened the day before he died. Or two days before he died. Or wonder what he would have said about the things that happened after he died. It has been a month since he died.

It is like a cloak
but wraps in a binding
straight jacket.
Not white or black, but a grey
a pall of smoke that
tears the eyes.
It frays in
small moments
remembrances of
what once.
As you pass on the
street the stones
remind you of
what loss.