For My Daughter: June 11,1969-August 15,1978 Poem by Will Thomas

Almost the middle of October.
It has rained for days.
No thunder.
Nothing grand or splashing,
just the cold stinging drizzle
that picks at people,
and pushes them
deep into the collars of their coats.

But this morning,
to the East,
the sky has gone to pink and purple.
Orange explosions
behind a web of thinning trees.

I am at my desk early.
Alone.
The heater hums and clicks quietly.

There is nothing new.

It is fifteen months of mornings
without you.
And always,
I am on the edge of tears.

Always.

Always, dear girl,
I think of you.