I climbed to search my attic yesterday
my brother my father came to humbly help
I told myself I would never fall in
insulation if I tread lightly enough
I climbed to find fruit once
in an apple tree we found
I told myself there was just one
I want and I only need it
There was a man who asked me for change
on the streets of New Orleans
he once told me
about his mom, Melody
She climbed each day
to put 37 years of storms
that looked like sunsets
behind her
Maybe we dodge change
to brighten up
our own attics and caskets
he said
Well I told myself
I want my eulogy to mean
more than the sound
of day to day traffic
the flicker of train lights
or the cleaning
of attics
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
I climbed to search my attic yesterday
my brother my father came to humbly help
I told myself I would never fall in
insulation if I tread lightly enough
I climbed to find fruit once
in an apple tree we found
I told myself there was just one
I want and I only need it
There was a man who asked me for change
on the streets of New Orleans
he once told me
about his mom, Melody
She climbed each day
to put 37 years of storms
that looked like sunsets
behind her
Maybe we dodge change
to brighten up
our own attics and caskets
he said
Well I told myself
I want my eulogy to mean
more than the sound
of day to day traffic
the flicker of train lights
or the cleaning
of attics