Do not care if you just arrive in your skeleton. / Would love to take a walk with you. Miss you. / Would love to make you shrimp saganaki. / Like you used to make me when you were alive. / Love to feed you. Sit over steaming / bowls of pilaf. Little roasted tomatoes / covered in pepper and nutmeg. Miss you. / Would love to walk to the post office with you. / Bring the ghost dog. We’ll walk past the waterfall / and you can tell me about the after. / Wish you. Wish you would come back for a while. / Don’t even need to bring your skin sack. I’ll know / you. I know you will know me even though. I’m / bigger now. Grayer. I’ll show you my garden. / I’d like to hop in the leaf pile you raked but if you / want to jump in? I’ll rake it for you. Miss you / standing looking out at the river with your rake / in your hand. Miss you in your puffy blue jacket. / They’re hip now. I can bring you a new one / if you’ll only come by. Know I told you / it was okay to go. Know I told you / it was okay to leave me. Why’d you believe me? / You always believed me. Wish you would / come back so we could talk about truth. / Miss you. Wish you would walk through my / door. Stare out from the mirror. Come through / the pipes.
— Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you by Gabrielle Calvocoressi
