Fresh Ink 2020
WHEN HE SPEAKS OF YOU Mary Tetreault When he speaks of you, I see an angel sliding by. His eyes turn gray with longing; The sky takes back its blue. I cry with him, sobbing, While his quiet tears fall on my hair. In this moment I am a stand-in for you, his only love; in prayers I beg to take your place. His gentle words are for what might have been; soft wings swoop low and hold us both. You could not have been his everything, but he will never know. His dreams for life with you are pale and muted, and his words hold promises to keep you in his heart. His voice is somehow musical, as if set to harps and flutes (and wings). I stand here with a hurting man, and see the boy he was the day you passed away. He talks of this always - why you and not him? The cruelty of God. I sooth and whisper and smell your jasmine scent. You loved him, too; why did you lose your way and stumble into heaven?
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