I wish I still made your morning coffee.
Four heaping spoonfuls of the morning blend
that Mommy picked up at the store.
Even though chemo stopped a month ago,
it’s the one thing you can’t keep down.

I wish you were still working.
I miss the sounds of
you getting ready for work in the morning.
I know it made you tired,
but it was part of you.
Mommy told me that
since the cancer spread to your brain
sometimes it affects how you act.
Is that why you can’t work anymore?

I wish you still talked about your future grandkids.
Taking them up north
the way you took us up north.
Talk about them as if you’ll meet them one day.
You don’t really talk about the future,
not anymore.
All your words are stationary.

I wish you would put down the cigarettes.
Daddy.
I miss making your morning coffee.
So please put down the cigarettes
and live to see tomorrow.