Every year when the peonies bloom I hear
your voice teasing two little girls cartwheeling
giggles along a broken sidewalk.
You invariably bring a brighter sun when
you stop by in spring. It hangs as a bright
balloon tied to the wrist of hope.
Yes, I choose the pinkest blossoms
to fill a vase to brighten my northern window.
They are a compass pointing toward our last goodbye.
I am much better now; the pain is still there,
but the tears don’t burn my heart as often. I finally
allowed myself to trust finding peace wouldn’t betray you.
You will always be nineteen, love baseball, think
Charlie holds the stars, and give Dawn and Carrie
piggy back rides across the front lawn.
I miss you.
NaPoWriMo ~ Day 26