An Unintended Thing.

Some day there will be a hole where you are. 

Where your hand held mine. Where your familiar face returned my gaze. 

So I am trying to fill that hole now. 

Before it exists. 

When I pick up the phone, or bring the boys over for a visit, I am filling the hole. 

Maybe it will feel less empty if I fill it now? 

Or maybe nothing will change,  

Except my sense that I held tightly to your hand a while longer. 

On Shabbat you can dig a hole, only if you don’t need the hole. You don’t want the hole. It’s something that you never intended.

An Unintended Thing. 

It’s because you needed the dirt. To cover something else up. 

That is what I need. 

Fuck you, Alzheimer’s.