on the first day of the month

we flipped all calendars in sight

and one on the sitting room wall

brought but a moment’s flicker

as the floral display exchanged

my father’s now absent voice replayed

his botanic wit and joy displayed

what then was a random comment

during our regular video calls

but now no longer to be so

in another couple of months

shall mark the first year of his passing

a pinch it was of a fond memory

a punch in the gut of new reality