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.