Bookstore Poem #619. It was a sign

Something I have noticed over the last few years.

Sometimes you see people
and just know

When I saw my grandmother
for the last time
she talked about the confusion
over her birthday
how she knew the day she was born
but had never been sure
about the year

She’d always thought
it was either 1912 or 1913

It was 1911

At the door, as I was leaving
she gave me a second kiss goodbye

Three weeks later
she was gone

When George Carlin performed
on his last special
everything about him
seemed fuzzy around the edges
smudged, no longer sharp

I recall thinking
he didn’t have much time left

A few months later
he was gone

In January of last year
my father sent me something in the mail
addressed with a shaky scrawl…

(22 May 2019—posted 23 May 2019)

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