An Empty Space Beside Me

An empty space There is an empty space that walks Beside me: a shimmering in the Fabric of the air. No boundaries define this space Until memories slip in, to give Form, voice, palpable Presence. Who might this person be who Is there, yet a phantom, transparent Expression of my past? My Mother walks there, stiff jointed With age, gruff voiced and grey Haired, yet bringing a smile to my Lips, and joy. Then my Father, a pigeon pair we, In gait and voice; anxious, articulate, Pedantic, perfectionist. Dead too Young. Memory fills the space with the Nearness of love, the fleeting Images of childhood, or raw Emotion of adolescence. As I walk the street, the empty Space becomes the passing Parade of my life, a picture book Of memories. It is the gallery of my grieving Now laid to rest, each passing Accepted. Save you; who is a hundred Phantoms, each one a caricature Of hope, of despair, of perplexed Grief. You are the empty space That walks beside me, a shimmering In the fabric of the air.