and always, there is a picture of you and her - coming home, happy, from a
vacation on the seas. and you looked like a sailor, with a tattoo of an anchor
on your arm - your hair greased back (face weathered by places and days I'd
never seen). sometimes i read and re-read the birthday card you sent me when i
turned seven. and i know the sun will never shine the way it did that day
(when we threw paper airplanes at your head, and sat on your knees - laughing).
