We Talk to One Another at Different Times


We talk to one another at different times.

I talk to you when I visit
to stand at your place of rest.
I speak aloud but softly.
Loud enough for you to hear
but not enough to disturb the others
in resting places so near.
My words are of missing you
and of lost moments
from days, and now. years without you.
I stand there as the words come
and think of adventures we shared,
of moments in time during trips,
nights out, times with friends,
but the times I miss most of all
are the little things such as holding your hand,
of the sunlight in your hair.
Sometimes, I kneel
and place my hand on the cold stone
with a prayer on my lips.

You never talk to me in the light of day.
No, I hear you sometimes
in the ethereal stage
between being awake and finding sleep.
Sleep, where I ever search
but never find you in my dreams.
When you talk, your voice, too, is soft
usually just loud enough
to pull me from the grasp of empty dreams.
Sometimes, I am startled by the sound
but instantly recognize the voice
no matter how soft.
My heart races and my eyes frantically search
for you in the dark.
But in the dark, you remain.
And what do you say to me?
Usually, I just hear my name.
Sometimes you say “Michael”.
Sometimes it is “Mikey”.
The rest of your words drift away
although, once I heard something
that sounded like “love . . .”

The time you have been gone
grows larger
as my time becomes smaller
while our conversations go on.

We talk to one another at different times.

Michael Mathews
March 3rd, 10:55 AM
Wednesday morning
On the lake near a place where I hear rumors of home
A day after visiting and talking to her again