You never told me to remember, impress upon my mind, my childhood days with you

So, I didn’t know I would only retain memory pieces of the life we lived together

I never stopped to think you might not be here tomorrow

Did it cross your mind you might not watch your daughters grow up?

Nothing indicated that the metronome steadying your life, my life, would stop beating

I didn’t ask you the thirty-two important life questions

I never worried about remembering your voice

I never envisioned your absence

You never warned that you would leave me, but how could you have known?

You never spoke of things you would have done differently

You didn’t mention that life’s seasons are filled with passions and depressions

We never talked about falling in and out of love

You never taught me how to cook lasagna

 

I did not tell you enough how much I love you

 

This was not expected

You never told me

I never knew

This

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Whitney (Walters) Jacobson lives and works in Duluth, Minnesota. She is an Assistant Professor at the University of Minnesota Duluth and an Assistant Editor of Split Rock Review. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Minnesota State University Moorhead. Her poetry and creative nonfiction have been published or are forthcoming in After the Pause, Fearsome Critters, Thunderbird Review, and Up North Lit, among other publications. Connect with her on Twitter: @WaltersJacobson