I feel loss in your footsteps
walking on roads I used to skip on
roaming markets, like mazes, I would get lost in.
I feel loss in your voice
hearing the soft sounds of lullabies
lovingly whispered into the ears of babies.
I feel loss in your scent
the wafting aroma of pancakes on the hob
the burning of uunsi over hot coal
breathing in the pungent smell of coriander.
I would rub the leafs between my thumb and index finger
as you taught me
to tell the difference from parsley
I feel loss in your memory
the anticlockwise swirling of canjeero on the griddle.
pushing me on swings.
I feel loss in your stories
trying to fill in the gaps of the ones you tell me
searching for you in the ones they tell me
of how you helped them
fill out forms and settle in
find work and housing
‘your mum really helped me’ they say
and pause in mid sentence.
‘and now she’s helpless’.
Hooyo, I feel loss in your scent and sound, your touch and taste.
I feel loss everywhere.