The morning after his mother passed

Into some great valley of comfort and stars

My father sat by his computer.

“Listen to this song,” he told me--

Like so many times before--

When he wished me to listen to things that we would’ve heard

Had we been born at the same time.

I sat and I listened to a song by Nat King Cole

That, for once, he has never shown me before.

We sat. We listened. And when I looked to ask my father

Why this is the one he is showing me today,

He is a boy, a child, cheeks wet with tears.

“this was her favorite song.”

We both watched the screen,

Like it was a window into a two-minute-long life

Of Her, in her field of comfort and stars

With her favorite song as her music.

We let the song finish before we move.

“Well, that’s the song,” he said.

“That’s a nice song,” I reply.