I Hope These Poems Will Make You Cry

Family Reunion

The piano echoes through the halls, snowflakes falling through the magic of his careful symphony.
And there is my mother, her eyes fixed on crinkled pages.

We are all older.

Six years ago, this scene would not have been burdened by the knowledge that the music would have to stop, the door would have to open, and the musician would have to leave.

Six years ago, there were less gray hairs and no cats to keep our minds off of the first Christmas without him.

Quick hugs goodbye. A wave. The door shuts. Mother feels it too.