"Somewhere out there is the poemI never finished but always meant to.The last time I wrote..."

“Somewhere out there is the poem

I never finished but always meant to.

The last time I wrote something with actual

meaning was at my grandfathers funeral

and it was on the back of a packet

that on the front asked me if I had found my way

to God, or if I was merely just walking

in his creation. If only those printed words knew

I’d been walking around aimlessly for so long.



I remember the summer days when Papa

was here still. Being by the crystal blue

and chlorine scented water - I never felt

so at ease with everything that had been going

on in my life, whether it was good or bad.

Papa knew how to make me feel better

about everyone who had made me feel

like shit. “Forget about em’, they don’t

know you like I know you and you shouldn’t

ever let em’.” He was always right, and I’ll take

that advice to my grave. I wonder what

kind of advice he took to his.



It’s been almost a year since he passed

and the only thing that I’ve noticed change

is my grandmothers weight. My family thinks

everything is different and I don’t know why

I can’t see it, can’t feel it, can’t hear anything

but how the wind calls me for when I tune out

everyone around me. Nothing has changed

except for my body since Papa has been gone.

I’ve been convincing myself that maybe

it’s because I can still feel him near me,

can still see him netting out beetles and spiders

from the crystal blue, chlorine scented water.”

- ”The summer when Papa was here,” Colleen Brown