No Graveyard on Memorial Day

 By Mushroom Montoya

On this Memorial Day,

Like so many before,

There is no graveyard

For me to go to.

 

Our son, Jeremy, was a sailor.

His last resting place, the sea.

Thus, I walk to the water’s edge,

Whispering, “I miss you, Kid,”

As the water laps the shore,

Whispering, “I know.”

 

I remove my shoes

And step off the land

With my toes hugging the sand

And the water embracing my feet.

 

This is not the hug I need

That will ease the grief,

That makes me cry.

The water whispers,

“I know.”

 

I see him laughing, reading a book

While the memory wraps around my neck,

Squeezing my throat,

Pushing out tears.

It’s been too many years

And I still miss you.

 

Want to hug you

Touch your face against mine,

And say I love you.

The wave lunges forward

Slapping my feet,

Whispering, “I know.”

 

I feel cheated and mistreated

By your sudden departure

As if you were kidnapped

And I don’t know where you are.

 

I bend down scooping up

A handful of water,

Whispering into it,

“I miss you, Kid.”

 

A boat makes a wake

Wrapping around my legs

Whispering, “I know.”