Our Numbered Days

by Neil Hilborn

Enabling: a Love Song for and after my grandmother It’s called kissing the bottle because of the way your lips move. I seem to recall that your lips moved like that on me once, but I doubt either of us would remember now. Now, after the years and what I’m sure must be several houses full of glass. I bet you could fill all the places we’ve lived together with all the bottles we’ve emptied together. Bob, I know you never much liked drink. I think you only drank so I didn’t feel lonely so you didn’t feel lonely. I’m lonely now, Bob. How’s heaven, Bob? You must have gone to heaven. You spent too much time taking care of me to do anything bad. Our children have to give me the wine now. Our children, who you always kissed goodnight with your mouth or whatever implements were closer at hand. Bob, this Christmas all the other words were gone but I could still say your name. Everyone noticed, but no one would tell me where you’d gone. I knew where you’d gone, but I still expected you to walk in the door with Spotty, who I know is also dead, but there are too many deaths now to use them to accurately measure time. Bob, I looked into Marilyn’s eyes and asked a question. Every word was your name. Even if I could have said anything else, I wouldn’t. She wiped the mashed potatoes off my chin and said “I know. We miss him too.” Bob, that’s it. I miss you. I’d forgotten what it was like. Since you came home from the ocean I’d never not been near you. I may have been sad, but never lonely....