The wind used to howl,
but now it only cries.
The poignant sting of snow
used to ambush my eyes.
With Fall and Winter in a blur
all year is Summer and Spring.
I used to walk, walk with you
be pushed in a kiddie swing.
The geese were more afraid of me
than I was ever of them.
Oh, Memére,
how I miss the days together we would spend.
The sun still scorches,
but not as sweet,
as clouded with young eyes
You can’t compare a tropic spring
to dusted Autumn skies.
The pumpkins red,
lit up at night,
would glow upon your face.
In winter,
every snowflake seemed
to find its perfect place-
upon your window,
lit up with care,
those glowing,
plastic candles.
They’ve faded as the years have passed,
like sun-bleached, light-pink, sandles.
You’ve been lost,
like an age-pulled button.
Your stings have not held,
Your mind forgotten.
So I dig, I dig, through your sewing kit,
to stitch you back together.
At least for my own memory,
so I can remember forever.
Somehow I’m not as nimble,
somehow just not as quick.
I couldn’t find the seamstress in me
once you’d fallen sick.
I pump, I pump
the metal petal,
to piece you back together.
That button used so many times
in deadly, freezing, weather.
Somehow you slipped,
not just through my fingers,
but in a dreadful way, where the soul seldom lingers.
You just got worse
I cried to find
that stinking button
that was on my mind.
The final piece that would solve the puzzle
fix a confused mind,
your struggle.
Now I see,
now that you’re gone,
that I had had it all along.
The key, the clue, that wretched button.
And then it hit me,
all of a sudden.
Those trembling geese, the Autumn skies,
the snowflakes that had stung my eyes.
Those things are all I really need
to make sure your heart still beats.
Your eyes,
your chin,
your soft, thin hair,
all the answers
were always there.
Now whenever I miss you,
these gems of memories,
they pull me through.
In loving memory of Julie Michaud: a wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and talented seamstress whom we all loved dearly.
