Fog

Fog

A poem by Luna Jaffe

———

After you left
it descended,
dense and icy,
rendering my eyes
unseeing.

Feeling my way
in the dark
I reached for you,
my hands trying to find
skin I knew so well.

I grasped at the fog,
over and over, to no avail.
Are you there?
I call your name,
only echoes return

In the midst
of condensation
I cannot see
through
the muting blanket
that transforms
landscapes, softens
edges, shortens the depth of field.

I will never feel you
a babe in arms,
a toddler crawling into bed, burrowing into my body
a teen awkwardly hugging with lanky arms
a young man reaching for his mother’s comfort
again.

Instead, I have
your feathery embrace,
shafts of light defined as your love
shines through.
I have the knowing that your misty presence
touches everything and everyone.
I have the delicate sense
that if I step back far enough
I will no longer feel a chill
but instead, perceive
with awe
the way
you
are
here.