The last time I saw him
he smiled
a weak and trembling grin.
His eyes were wet and
losing their luster.
The last time I saw him
He didn’t look back
but drove off undaunted
into his own future.
I knew he wasn’t coming back.
Even then I refused
to accept it.
Even now I find it
hard to believe.
The last time I saw him
he packed up his books and
zipped closed all his bags
with a flourish of his wrist.
It was raining.
It still is inside me,
where there is
an empty place.
Excerpt From: Diane E. Dockum. “Just Beyond The Hill.”
Marble Hill Press 