Roses Grow.

are you there where the good ones go? can you write me a letter? could you visit home?

I knew a man. He was known by his middle name. John. He was strong. Gentle. Tall. Broad. All the things a man should be. He was smart and loved and loved and loved. I have photo's of him in the army. Working on the planes he loved so much. He met his wife through his work, and passion never left either. He had a baritone. He sung harmonies with me. Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none like pretty Sally, she's the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley... I used to sit on his lap and watch Wheel of Fortune. Sherbet lemons. Crosswords. Not allowed to touch the walls. Two minute noodles. Dinners on trays, so you could eat at the lounges.

"Sally.. You have warm hands today." - his eyes would twinkle.
"Sally.. Cold hands. You're just like your mother." - he'd hold me tight. His eyes would twinkle anyway.

They always did.


I haven't grasped that it was him in that coffin, you know. It was just a box to me. With flowers. Roses. Like his garden bed. It grows, and I wonder whether the flowers have forgotten him.. Are you too busy reaching for the warmth of the sun?

you could sit at the foot of my bed, and sing reassurances.. because I'm not sure of anything.