The Bottom of the Cup

In the early morning hours,
your son has awakened.
So I have fed him his bottle
and rocked him in my arms
till he drifted off
then gently laid him back in his crib,
as I know you would have done.

This eve of Labor Day weekend
I won’t be returning to sleep soon.
Having poured myself a coffee
I prefer to sit quietly
and listen to his breathing
on the baby monitor’s speaker,
even though I need the rest.

You are gone now.
One year.

These words empty
as is my heart.
At least with the coffee
I can see the bottom of the cup.