I think this time I’m crying,
Not for the many people I have lost,
but for those I have never had to begin with.
My mother is somehow on both lists,
though I’m sure she doesn’t think so.
My father’s name sits next to hers on the list,
As he always sits next to her. By her side,
And on her side every time, every day.
My grandmother was on the first list
until the day she revealed her soul to me.
Her heart had wrinkles and scars more
gruesome than her youthful smile could hide.

I think this time I’m crying,
Not for the mistakes I’ve made,
But for the memories I didn’t.
My childhood sits at the top of the list,
A foggy blur of grey and white.
My mother’s genuine smile is beside it,
A beautiful sight I think I’ll never see.
My birthdays are each lined up neatly,
Each one a day set aside just for me.
The last thing on the list is scratched out.
Someone I swear I knew once, but don’t
Remember even the song of their name.