Pages

.

.

It was your favorite book,

the one with Goldbug*

hidden in every picture.

You’d turn the pages

and find him peeking

from the window of a car

or riding in the back

of a fire truck.

.

When you grew up

you had your own cars and trucks

and never failed to wave

and beep your horn

when you drove away.

.

A year ago today

you left this realm

but you are not gone.

I feel you standing next to me

as I water the grape ivy.

Your wind chime rings

when the air is perfectly still.

The little wooden cats

you carved for me

change position during the night.

Something invisible

tickles my arm.

.

You tell me in a dream

not to be sad

and you wave at me

from the windows of everywhere.

I wave back

and turn another page.

.

.

©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

* from Richard Scarry’s – Cars and Trucks and Things that Go

.

Cats carved by my late son, Arlie, when he was 8 or 9.

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