I remember looking through cards
at the neighborhood grocery
during one of those times
when you and I
were so far apart
that worlds stood in the space at our kitchen table.
I read, sigh, and replace
looking for the one
the one that acknowledged your effort
gave credit to your sacrifice
thanked you properly
without sounding gushy
or mushy
(because I wasn’t feeling it
hadn’t been feeling it
didn’t know
if I would
ever
feel it again)
or like a lie
that would forever
hang over generations of your grandchildren
believing they couldn’t live up to
a person who never existed.
There are no cards for you today.
No kitchen table
No worlds between us
No space between us at all
And once again,
no card that can do the job.
