I can still hear Jack, his voice
resting comfortably in the back
of my head. He is gentle, often
with a subtle slice of sharp wit,
and if he cannot help, at least
he tries never to do any harm.
He agrees with me on waking
up; how that can be harder
on certain days than on others.
But up, we must. What choice
do we have but to do our best
effort and let go of the results?
I have his books, photographs
of the both of us, and enough
memories that I fear to lose
if I do not write them down
in time. Because time is all
I have in place of him now.
So, I nod, corrected, his child
& student; both really. I go
to a meeting; let go of grief
a little. Jack you didn't live
to see me sober. But I try to be
gentle with myself, even so.
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