I think about you every day.
The day you died. That last time I felt you move. My sister’s house, the shirt I was wearing, the wheelchair ride up to the maternity ward.
The day you were born. Crying, crying, crying. Holding the featherlight bundle that was you.
Every day I remember these things. Every day.
Every night I glance up to your portrait on M’s wardrobe. I kiss her cheek three times. Mama te quiere. Mommy te quiere. Y Baby Joseph te quiere.
I may not write much, but I think about you every day.
Today, I have a piece up on Glow.
© Burning Eye