by Aaron Petty
I seldom saw so many kinds of tears
Fall across so short a span of days
I’m sure I would have seen more
had I been there through the years
The first came with a backward glance. Death nears,
A tune sung by a child gently plays
A solitary drop strains to appear
The next was not intentional; I fear
A different kind of vow met questions raised
Long ago—yet still so hard to hear
The last from bracing honesty. It’s clear
To me, what might have been now weighs
More heavily
We’re still there through the years
Aaron Petty writes about memory, belonging, and the people who matter. His work has appeared in Tulane Review and elsewhere.