Old Dan Tucker and endless
hours of hanging out at that little
coffee-shop-convenience-store you liked
turned into hours of writing about the
fragmented memories I have of the
time I spent with
you.
Five years ago, in January,
Hours turned into
Minutes and
Minutes slowed into
Seconds. And then suddenly,
all the time elapsed between us
And your ticking clock turned out to be
a homemade explosive you
marked as ‘flammable’.
But my clock still ticks on,
and deep inside of me, it’s
forever set to summer.
Summers I spent hours with
you; playing Old Dan tucker
on the piano, and singing while you
pushed me on the swings and I
screamed with utmost delight
and glee. I begged you to let me
soar higher and higher, still,
far away to heights unknown and
forever un-dreamt about.
Even back then, I thought I
was an angel.
But then
Hours slowed to
minutes, and while your
explosive clock broke down,
and minutes trickled down to
seconds and your beautiful lungs
that sang me pretty songs and
whispered to me how I was
your “favorite grandchild, “
Your once beautiful lungs were
as black and as dark as
charcoal is before
it burns up.
Though your lungs went black,
and the strings that held you
together were wearing thin,
your heart never did.
And even almost six years and
six million tears later,
you still hold our family together with a
glue as strong as the heart that
never stopped beating,
and as beautiful as the
lungs that sang me
softly to sleep,
even from six-feet deep.