Has it really been four years
since I called you,
from this very swing
to tell you we’d arrived safely?
A lingering habit
from years of traveling
to visit Dad
without you.
The metal chain creaking
as we chatted back and forth.
Looking out at the same dichotomous mix of
sand, pine trees
and brightly hued tropical flowers,
warm humid air whispering welcome.
Was a cardinal perched on the far branch
that day as there is today?
Now I just sit and swing,
trying to remember your voice.