65/365 The Long Exhale

I will not die
while I can still hear her say,
"Daddy"
while there are plans for family vacation
languishing on the kitchen table,
dandelions in the yard waiting to be blown.

There will be no slipping quietly,
no tolling of bells to be pondered.
Her dresses are pink and twirly
the way she likes them
She will not be pleased to wear formal black
to sit quietly and not play by the coffin
or pluck petals from each bouquet.

I will breathe
whether lungs cooperate or refuse.
There will be pictures of us
taken tomorrow
moments next summer that will etch themselves
into our eyes
traditions that we will start when she is older
and she will learn to carry on
the way I learned to carry on
to close my eyes
and remember.