Birthdates of the Gone
 
I see their names in little boxes on the calendar.
 
Chocolate ganache runs in rivulets
down the sides of a white cake,
then slows
to settle in irregular patterns
of the twelve month-song.
All the candles have been blown out—
as useless as a greeting card returned
No longer at this address.
 
I go on painting watercolor images
on small postcards—
blue water, marshmallow sky.
 
MaryEllen Talley

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  MaryEllen Talley  would like to hear them.