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How I'll Remember You

Your 6’4” frame hunched over in dedicated concentration late into the evening as you worked Sometimes on work-related things but more often happily lost in the depths of a hobby Tinkering with your HAM radio or twisting infinitesimally small copper wires together with a tiny pair of red-handled pliers Your fingers bent at the joint above the knuckle Tongue stuck halfway out the side of your mouth Eyes affixed on some tiny electronic part whose place in the machine only you would know You always told me there was nothing that couldn’t be fixed with constant fiddling Your computer screen open and illuminating some severely complex thing Constellations you’d plotted across outer space Coordinates on point and perfectly color-coded Your incredible mind was so bright as to understand the actual inner-workings of light I remember you explaining that The Universe is finite but also that space bends and If you had a telescope powerful enough you could look into it and see the back of your own head thus still accounting for the fact that Time never ends Your sparkling, smiling eyes as you shared your knowledge with me and I listened intently, even though I couldn’t comprehend the technical details It didn’t matter because we were together, and that was the part about which we always marveled The family we instantly became upon meeting The way it lasted forever The way you cherished me as if I were your own daughter The look of loving disdain you gave me when I beat you at Boggle or Quiddler Yet again Your breakfast plate: A waffle whose every square you had meticulously flooded with butter, then syrup And at dinner: Lettuce drowning in too much Ranch The way you gazed into the eyes of your beloved pets And they back into yours The understanding they had for you which you felt no one else did or ever could Your love for Marci - your (August) Bride of 45 years Your hauntingly beautiful poetry Your tender, sensitive heart that felt every travesty and embraced every miracle Riding in the boat with you Playing disc golf with you Making crayon shaving art with you Sharing dreams and laments with you Hearing you tell me how proud you were of me Your laughter Mark My god, how deeply I love and will miss you (For Mark B. Peterson, a poet on Poetry Soup who passed away on September 2, 2021)

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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