This poem was published in the April/May 2010 issue of the Poetsespresso Newsletter.

 Today I Saw You on the Hill

Just after my morning walk on the highway

up to South Coast,

just after my relaxing soak in the big corner bath,

just as I start my trudge up the hill,

towel in hand ready to dump in the box,

I see you engrossed in a conversation.

I know you instantly

the buzz cut

the long sideburns

the slight build

the intense blue eyes

giving full attention

to your friend

as you talk.

Today for some reason

the clothes are wrong.

Instead of your Doc Martins

you wear bright striped sneakers

Instead of the brown leather book bag

slung across your body

that I bought you for school 

you have a backpack.

Still I know it is you.

Like on the other days when I see you 

in your dark gray sweater

or black jacket

and levis crossing the street

or on the pier

or at the piano

or sitting outside Starbucks. 

Like when I see you at work, 

young, brilliant, and so sure of yourself,

I have no doubts.

Please go on, my beautiful boy. 

Give it a rest.

I don’t want to think about you here

I don’t want to write about you anymore

I’ve written about you ad nauseum

and still you won’t leave me alone.

Even here among the hummingbirds

and the pines and salt air

I’m not safe.

You’re dead. Your choice.

So stop bothering me already.

If you wanted to stay in my life

and bother me

why did you choose to die?