Who could imagine
that you, that I, that we
would share earth together
for this decades stretch of time?
What are the odds?
Not 50-50 even.
A million-to-one?
A vast complexity
of accidents gone right.
One micro-miniscule choice,
one slight deviation from desire,
one postponed parental urge,
and the space we shared
would have been only half full.
The shirts hanging in your closet are empty,
as are the spaces you inhabited since 1943.
My heart is now filled of that emptiness.
My wardrobe of memory is full of your life,
I am well dressed in stories you made possible.