Without His Hands

It feels weird. Ya know?
In a way that crawls into 
Your skin way down deep.
You knew before you walked in
About the change,
But you didn't predict it;
The new sense of stickiness
Like the weight of an elephant
Pressing in on this old
Hand-nailed roof.
He is missing, you knew
He was missing.
And you are glad;
It isn't as if his presence
Does not still linger-
Forever it will.
And it is better now,
For him at least, you know it is!
But still he is missing.
Not that one would want
Those now mannequin hands
To sit at this table, holding
A glass of decaf.
But now, this.
It just is not the same.
Something just 
Isn't right about this old house...
Without his hands.

Thoughts In Passing

Every time I got close to the casket
All I could manage to think
Was how those were mannequin hands,
Not his hands

And every time any one of you looked at me
And said how nice it was to see a better picture of him
Than those last few months; what a great job they did!
I looked around and saw him everywhere