Of all the things I never said,
I wish I’d told her
“I love you”
before he did.

Her eyes were
the most exquisite shade
of cerulean blue.
Her daughter’s are too—

I remember
the day she arrived,
the day you slipped away, too.

Lost on October third,
two thousand twenty-two...
Could you have stayed
if I’d told you?

Every day then—
and now—
I wish I’d gone
to see you.