I miss him because of the daughter
we never had
with his eyes and my hair
and our shared fevered urge to create.
And she could have read the lines
in your hands
and tell your fortune with her
well-loved tarot cards I would have
given her on her twelth birthday.
And maybe she would have watched football
with him on the sofa- A quirk I would
have overlooked because she would
curl into her book on commercial breaks
and half time.
She would have been the best and worst
of both of us- my patience-
his bone-deep goodness
and our shared stubborness and need
to run and hide when the world wanted
more than we had to give.
And maybe she would have inherited
that darkness too,
standing on the cliff debating
what else there was to do
And we would have taken her by the hand
We would understand
because we had both contimplated
before we found each other.
I miss him because of the woman she would have grown up to be-
a close friend
a better mother even than me-
A small but powerful spark
burning bight as a reminder of our love
even after we were gone.