The Hole Where He Was (To A Deceased Friend) Poem by Bryan Sefton

There is a hole where he was
Not a hole in the ground
A superficial place
But a hole that hangs
Suspended in space
The space he contained
Wearing his face

You turn to speak
Then turn away
He was there
But Tuesday
Before the phone call
Saying 'heart attack!
They were too late
Ambulance here
Taking him back'

The phone slowly sinks
Down to its place
Stays on your knee
Just in case

The television sings
The microwave pings
And suddenly
There is a hole at your side
Sitting with you
Insisting you listen

You turn, you see it
The hole where he was
The edges glaring
As deep as your loss