Written: March 18, 2026
You never truly died – not really.
You’re in every breeze upon my face and every freckle upon my shoulders.
I see it every day; even more now that I’m older.
You’re alive in every laugh, every smile, every joke,
And every summer night, you’re alive in the charcoal grill’s smoke.
Your nose in the mirror and your waves in my hair,
That’s what I see in my reflection there.
Not in my eyes though – they aren’t Mama or you,
They’re hazel – not your brown or her blue.
Every caw of a gull or web from a spider,
“How far away are you?”, I sit, and I wonder.
You can’t call me and laugh or deck dance or sing,
But when Papa does, it makes my aching heart ring.
Memories of you never have to flood back,
They’re always right here, like a lighter in your cigarette pack.
I can wish for a hug and wish for a call,
But I can’t wish you back. No. Not at all.
I pray you’re content on your sunny beach coast
And I pray of all the shark teeth there, you’re finding the most.
Some days are harder than others, no doubt.
I stand on my porch alone, and at motorcycles, I shout.
I’m not with you but I hear you when one passes just the same,
Much as I do when your father says my name.
Your green chair, Blue, sits waiting for you.
I brightened it up – repainted it your favorite green hue.
When I sit in it, I feel the ocean breeze and smell the salt air.
That’s how I know you’re not gone. You’re still sitting right there.
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