wyrdwind

Little Screens

Your mama told me

how you sat straight up

mid-REM just to say

I was part of your family,

not a passer-by, a minor thing.

Shuffled into the kitchen at three,

“Did you know,

I knew you when I was a baby?”

Errands, gossip, and groceries,

we had to save you a seat,

quietly buried, just listening

to us speak.

Asked your mama how to make

my favorite cake for my birthday—

the first boy

to be so thoughtful until then

and the only to this day.

If I ate dark chocolate and black coffee,

by god you’d eat it too. Left your locks wavy,

let them grow out, ’cause I told your mama

hers were beautiful every chance I got.

Donned a giant sleep shirt ’cause the rest of us

were in the kitchen full grandma.

Once, you were naughty

and I was cross. Only a handful

of tempered words. Not loud.

Not vulgar.

You disappeared.

We sensed the loss

in volume. Your sister said

you’d gone to bed

at six o’ clock.

Not my little night owl.

Did you know,

she’s the one who found you

this last time.

In Loving Memory of my nephew, 2012 – 2025