Nothing at all

There is a world where I shed tears 

from the news you've fallen. 

I should-

you are old, frail,

father of my mother- 

all the becomings of tragedy, 

deserving of sympathy. 

Brittle bones now reflect 

brittle temper, shattered love- 

there is no time, 

I have eggs to crack this morning 

for my omelette, preparing for work, 

Rain comes with nowhere to fall. 

Mum doesn't ask us to call you- 

this time, there is a quiet understanding,

numb hand holds numb hand. 

Sis feels it too, the lack- 

the reach to a high forgotten shelf, 

hands grasp for nothing. 

I wonder if your shelf was ever full for us, 

if you’d readily reached-

for measured concern.

I wonder how full we’d have been 

for each other.