If you were still here, your days would be numbered.
But that means nothing to the number of days you’ve been gone.
I think of the thousands of times I could have heard your voice,
seen your face. Or the thousands of times you could have heard
my children laugh, seen them smile, seen the sun rise one more time.
Not all has been darkness since you left us, but the light
you would have brought is unforgiving in its absence, your absence.
Eclipsed, you had robbed from you the one true sunset you deserved.
It’s been 25 years since my father died, way too early at 60.
The challenge for Day Four of NaPoWrMo 2019 is to write a poem of sadness, achieved through simplicity, with the suggestion of a sonnet for compactness. Mine is short, though not necessarily simple, and definitely not a sonnet.