Matthew's Last Run

Matthew’s last Run

I walk into this room, lost rhythm, upturned,

tears rolling down my dry face,

Everything is gone �" play trucks, lumpy balls,

toy soldiers,  game consoles, a scooter that

used to sit beside his bed, decorated with cerulean

colors along the bed post and a Spiderman blanket

that hung close to the stained floor.  I remember when

he would look up at me, giggling in language,

You’re the best daddy in the whole wide world, and

 I’d smile back, replying, I’ll always love you no matter what,

but it’s too hard to look back on those times when he was

in the living room playing with the TV, his little fingers

pressing the remote, searching for Dragon Tales,

but I’d always have to volunteer, his dark brown eyes

watching patiently.  Meanwhile, I’d resume to the kitchen fixing

his favorite desert, banana pudding, as he screamed,

Umm, it smells great daddy, as I thought to myself,

What would I do without my boy?   When night came,

 I’d tuck him into bed, shuffling through piles of books,

until I found the right one, “A little boy who never lost hope,”

slow reading as I saw his drowsy eyes drift off to sleep. 

For a few moments, I’d stare at him, relieving my memories,

 where my mom would gracefully sing to me in the night, and

say, Sweet dreams , I love you, as I gently closed my eyes.  Now, I can

feel a sharp pain inside my soul, yelling constantly,

reminding me that I have to let go.