Forgotten Portraits, Pt. 15

More about Forgotten Portraits, Pt. 15

You think the lamp burns for light.
But no.
It burns to count the hours.
And the hours are all I have left.

I buried my brother in spring.
I buried my wife in fall.
My son—
I don’t recall his voice anymore,
just the way he never finished his soup.

The portraits stare because they forget.
Every night, they forget again.
And every morning,
I must remind them.

The rabbit?
Ah…
It came the night the clocks stopped.
I heard no steps.
I simply turned,
and there it sat.

We don’t speak,
but I think it listens.

You wonder how I live so long?
I don’t.
Not really.

I just failed to stop.

And so I sit,
waiting for a name
that no one will speak.