you say you’ll be there
always
but never show

the forecast calls
for meteor showers
so I lay a blanket

in the park
clouds obscure
the view

I guess tiny streaks
across the sky
are not magnificent

I throw a penny
into a wishing
well

and call a séance
for my father
in my dining room

the dead
don’t leave
me

promises
on my voice
mail

 

(originally published in Erothanatos, Spring 2020)