BB Grey–musings

Hey Dad!
Her tiny voice—
a small, blue bird
at the nest’s edge.
She’d remembered her way home,
but her mom wasn’t there,
and I hadn’t set foot
there in years.

Hey sweet pea, great to hear your voice.
How’s work, your new place, your husband?
It sounded strange—
my own words,
a slow fall from grace.

Chirp, chirp, she went on,
a new song I’d never heard.

It reminded me of my mother,
the hours she’d spend
looking out her window,
naming the birds,
calling them friends.
Her laugh, her smile—
crooked teeth, she’d say,
Who needs them straight?

Chirp, chirp, chirp.
She danced in her feathers,
skittish,
then flew away.

Hey sweetie, thanks for stopping by.
Don’t be a stranger.
His voice trailed off
into the evening sky.

Hey Dad, I said again,
trying to bring her back.
But she was gone.
I ached instead,
sat inside,
remembered it all.

P and T.
Sisters.
My little princesses.

And the little prince?
He’s working on the details—
what I’ll wear in the coffin.
I told him: ashes.

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