No Reply
There are faces
that stare out of an inner dark
that are featureless and have
no name. They haunt memory,
some prodding a nerve
sending a regret off
in search of a home.
Others pick at a wound
not quite healed somewhere
in a hard to reach place
of a life. There are those
faces that are lost somewhere,
trapped in a moment,
unable to move on.
I never saw your face,
your brief existence covered over
by a label wearing the anonymity
of just a surname. That
was the way they did it back then,
stopper grief with denial.
Your lifetime was measured
in minutes. You would be
forty five this year.
My mind often fills
those years with dream,
wondering what we could
have done, the meaningful
and silly stuff a father usually
does with a son.
There is a place I sometimes
go to stare into the face
of an unfathomable silence.
I whisper a name
but there is no reply.
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