One Last Game

Today would have been my dads 56th birthday. Seven years. This is a poem I just finished today, I’ve been writing it for over a month. It’s about a dream I had, just after he died.

One Last Game
By Josh Curry

My eyes watch the board
My mind on his words not the game
I move, he moves
His words push me
The game drifts away

Only the board separates us
So close yet his voice barely reaches my ears
I strain at every word
Desperate to grasp them
Desperate to keep them

The pieces and squares vanish
His voice is all there is
Asking me questions
Exploring my life
Reminding me of his

The board melts away
Replaced with ghosts of memories
The world changes
A different time
A different goodbye

New board new pieces
I’m a child with fresh tears
I hate leaving
He hates to see me go
I barely hear his words

The board is gone again
A fresh ghost, just two weeks
I’m alone, a phone in my hand
I hear the words, I drop to me knees
My world falls apart

The board again
His voice brings me back
The final checkmate, the final goodbye
A smile and a hug
In his eye a single tear, the first and the last