By: Wil Michael Wrenn

Absence

Sometimes I think I hear
your footsteps, but I turn,
and you’re not there.

Sometimes I think I hear
your voice calling out,
but then I wake from my dream.

Sometimes I think I hear
your laughter, but it’s only
the sound that silence makes.

Sometimes I think I hear
you whispering softly to me,
but it’s only the echo of the wind.

Sometimes I seem to feel
your presence here with me,
but all that’s really left

is just a pensive memory…
a haunting, poignant memory.

###

For Ralph

You were not a big kid,
and you didn’t play sports,
but you were book smart.
You had diabetes
from your childhood,
and it got a lot worse
as the years went by.

Near the end,
when they told you
that you would go blind
and lose a limb,
you refused further treatment.

You died young,
but I hardly ever knew anyone
more full of life
and more courageous.
You were my friend,
and when my life is over,
I believe we’ll meet again.

###

Last Will and Testament

When my time has come
to leave this place,
just bury me in a plywood coffin,
or, better yet,
wrap me in a blanket
and bury me quickly,
without a funeral
or any memorial service.
I would not want anyone
to visit me after I’m dead
who could not come to see me
while I was among the living.
Maybe someone will care enough
to tend my grave,
to put some flowers there,
and remember me always.
If I could just have that,
it would be enough.

###

Fog

I like to walk at night
when the moon is full,
the fog has rolled in
and settled in the fields and hollows.

As I walk in moonlight and fog,
the boundary between this world
and the next seems fragile, thin;
what is real and what is imaginary
becomes blurred, obscured.

If I stand very still,
I can almost hear voices
of loved ones who have passed over.
I think I can hear
footsteps approaching and passing near.

I think I can see
ghostly figures moving through the fog,
moonlight illuminating their presence.

Fog envelops like a blanket,
making me want to remain here
in this place between reality and fantasy,
between the mundane and mystical,
between the physical and spiritual.

I can linger but cannot stay,
but I’ll return to this realm
and commune with those beloved souls
when I walk again at night
in the luminous moonlight
and in the fog.

###

Wil Michael Wrenn is a poet/songwriter living in rural north Mississippi, USA. He has an MFA from Lindenwood University, MO, USA, and is a songwriter/publisher member of ASCAP. His work has appeared in numerous publications, and he has published three books of poems.