I watch my dad's sister cry

I watch my dad's sister cry

I watch as my dad’s sister cries,
telling us her dad will miss breakfast, and tries

to act like it’s not the beginning of the end, 

the forgetting

I listen as my friend tells me how much older

her parents are after being away,

how it feels like they’re leaving bit by bit 

every time she turns away

The loss never goes away
I keep waiting for it to pack up and go west, 
to leave me to plant my gardens and frame my pictures and buy flowers 

that remind me of you

But it lingers 

even before the loss has come
on the periphery,
like the blurred edges of a sepia photograph

Hasn't it always been this way?

I wait with bated breath 

for an answer,

begging under my breath 

to be proven wrong

— olivia gwyn