Make a wish
[in poetry]
When you start remembering
death anniversaries
instead of birthday parties
When grief is the wearing
of an old jacket,
the adopting of habits
you once saw
and now need to live
so their memory can live, too
When you’re in the motorway
and you see a car and go,
“Oh, what a nice blue that is.”
You remember the light blue car
they drove,
that you helped pick.
When life becomes
a whole lot of remembering
and missing
and longing,
when birthdays become days
you want to celebrate simply—
no big birthday cakes
and faces looking at you
as you blow the candles out.
Make a wish, they said.
I wish they were still here.
I wish I was there before they left.03.02.2024 - Written three months after my dad died and six days before my birthday.
Photographed in a family farm in Little Forest, New South Wales. This sunrise was one of the most beautiful things to wake up to in the early morning.