By Deborah Gemmill 
In loving memory of Tyler 
The child has died
and still the newspaper is delivered
and the trash truck rumbles down the alley
and the next door neighbors talk of their Hawaii trip
and the forecast calls for rain.
The baby is gone
Texaco, not having heard, has sent another bill
the grass is growing taller
and your clothes keep needing to be laundered
and the PTA is having another meeting.
Your future has left
during the night, without a word
and the Present, ignorant of your pain
keeps swirling around you
kicking up dust that you must sweep up
and the forecast calls for rain.