by Anna N. Jennings

I don’t know if you will read this
over my shoulder or absorb it
from the cosmos. It’s been
sixteen years since you passed,
but it feels important that you know:

They’re doing all right.

Struggled, yes. Lay quietly
in the grass while butterflies
landed on their chests.
Explored, compass in hand
until each integral part connected.

But sometimes I do wonder.

Are they doing all right?
Teen years without a dad,
left with a mom
still sorting out her own.
Then they laugh your laugh.

They’re doing all right.

Photo by Jordan Madrid on Unsplash