If I could, I’d give myself
one more day with you –
before the sickness, the doctors,
before the last days crept up
on us like a thief at the window.
Just a normal day of normal things,
bacon and eggs after a good night’s rest,
our low murmuring voices in conversation,
beckoning sunlight falling through the glass
door, shimmering the air.
An entire day unfolding before us
with no particular agenda except being
All the questions I never asked would be
inconsequential , deferred
in favor of closeness and peace. Because,
after all, answers don’t matter –
only time matters.
How quickly it leaves us.
About the contributor: Charlotte Hamrick’s poetry, prose, and photography has been published in The Rumpus, Literary Orphans, Connotation Press, Eunoia Review, and numerous other journals. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and was a Finalist for the 15th Glass Woman Prize for her Creative Non-Fiction. She is Creative Nonfiction Editor for Barren Magazine. She lives in New Orleans with her husband and a menagerie of rescued pets. Catch her on Twitter @charlotteAsh / Website.