three years - a memorial poem

I hear him in the sound of James Taylor

And the crashing of bowling pins.

I sense him in the smells and sounds of autumn leaves

Tossed into a full garbage bin,

Smashed down with little feet and giggles. 

 

I feel him in the softness of his t-shirts,

The thickness of his socks, 

And the wideness of his shoes.

He’s in the sound of a whoopie cushion

And the whistling of an indistinguishable tune. 

 

I know him in grocery store donuts

And fried egg sandwiches,

In the excitement of telescopes and kites.

I see him in sandcastles and sled slopes

And in beams of golden evening light.

 

He’s in the feeling of laughing so hard I wet my pants,

And in the focus of the game.

I’m with him at garage sales and art shows,

Skating rinks and arcades.

 

I feel him in creativity, 

In taking an untraveled road to drive,

In stopping for a picture,

In trying, just to try. 

 

In a sense he’s never gone

But in another he’s never there.

How strange that you can lose someone

But find them everywhere.