A brave face
But it’s no use.
It’s not a sappy nostalgia fueling these tears.
Your fishing vest in my living room
Draped carefully over a chair,
Worn, but certainly not through,
Plenty of good life still in it
– Flies still strategically placed –
– Pockets holding necessaries –
– Tools dangling expectantly –
It looks so beautifully brave
And so empty.
And I feel silly
Over the frustration
That you won’t wear that vest again
For all your life that’s no longer in it.
This’d be the perfect moment
To slap on a well-meaning
Blessings-in-dark-places attempt-at antidote
– And I’ll get to that –
‘Cause that’s real and true too.
But right now,
Your fishing vest just looks all wrong
Without you in it.