That Final Night
by Jennifer Gawinski Cuming
Your stone will stand throughout the years,
unharmed by storms and heartless sneers.
My hands trace each of those etched dates,
as though again I touch your face.
When you held your favorite pen to write,
was I there in your thoughts that night?
Or melting in the shadow
of the woman you would follow?
I take the stem of your wineglass—
breakable, like all that’s come to pass.
If I drank with you that final night,
would my touch—my love—have saved your life?
This granite slab knows only cold,
yet warms me still, now that I’m home.
Jennifer Gawinski Cuming writes poetry exploring memory, love, and the fragile spaces between presence and absence. Her work often lingers on what we leave behind and the questions that follow.