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Some days your absence is less marked, and deep
is your presence all around, everywhere.
The old flamboyant tree across the street
comes into bloom. Checked cushions on the chair
still sag in spots where you'd rested your weight
as if you've not left. A pigeon coos outside
at the exact same pitch as on the days we'd played
at carrom. Not just the chair feels occupied.
We're low on stuff, whatever's in the cup
swirls hazy and bright. Something calls my name
like lightning on the sea. I instantly stop
no one's there - but the flashing sky feels the same.
Not just the chair and house feel occupied -
public roads too, whole cities and riversides.
Happy Mother's Day! - to all mothers here and elsewhere.
