Bring the grave to the steps
and the memories will follow;
sun stained wallpaper and leaded
windows fade, but not your name.
There’s something in my pocket,
a note from you and a penciled smile
from a name lifted from earth.
I forgot the sound of your voice
but remember your joy on a
face etched with wrinkles. Neighbors
Still nod with respect; sympathy
and bowed heads follow. Clouds
cover my eyes like night surrounding.
I’d love to hear you say my name
one more time.
Roger Singer 