Cary Briel

I can still see his look–
his eyes, mostly–
you know,
a “you should know better” look,
fixed on me quite longer than it probably was,
to which I would say back,
with equal, knowing eyes,
“I know!!”–
just hoping to make him stop
looking.

But, my God,
when I stop and consider
how alone I am now!
I am alone, you know.
Not utterly,
but without his look, I
instead turn inward,
searching for what he left with me
by loving me,
what hasn’t been taken from me.

And all these years later, I realize
that the look he held in his eyes
was not really, “you should know better,”
but, “I love you.”
I know it
because I catch myself looking the same–
at moments– at my children,
and there is never a look– never a gesture–
that doesn’t distill, simply, to,
“I love you.”