by Austin Rory Hackett
he always imagined saying something
memorable at the end,
something that his children would carry with them
and repeat to their children in a bedside moment.
But instead, the last thing he did before he died
was notice the leaves outside his window,
and how when the wind blew
they would cross back and forth over a beam of light
that hit his wall through a slit in the curtain
and make a bright spot fade in and out.
It’s like Morse code
he thought to himself.
Austin Rory Hackett is just writing poetry in hopes that Natalie will read it and start returning his calls.
