Life With Horace

poetry & essays


Leave a comment

The right note

Tomorrow might have been fifty-two,
not just thirteen since thirty-nine.
The day, aligned with family and gratitude,
always reflected joy, the heat of our love
folded into stuffing.
The missing of him has gotten harder
but it seems he knows. I came upon
the sound of his small gasp
that wrapped me up each time
in beauty gauze, when (finally ready)
I presented myself to his gaze
before our evenings out.
Deliciousness itself, just
knowing that he would, when I did,
that he always meant it,
and I can smile now, the memory
a pitch perfect gift.