I remember you
singing in a bar in Queens.
The yellow spotlights ruffled
in your greying hair
as your partner’s whoops fade
into the hollering crowd of drunks and maniacs.
Your melody vibrating throughout the room,
making all colors more vibrant
like a highlighter slashed through the air.
The whole world lives at 110%
when you’re singing on that stage.
Taking up space in the universe
like you don’t even care.
Making me learn where beauty lies.
In the lights dancing throughout your hair.
In a voice like a river on a warm summer day.
In your splotched skin peeking out from behind black dresses
and red lipstick.
You taught me that beauty lives inside everything.
In smooth young hands and wrinkled older foreheads.
In patches of lilies sprouting along riverbanks in May.
In little brown pugs that bark and huge black crows that scream.
In trees and churches and graveyards.
Everything can have a life
if you try hard enough.
My sister always wanted me
to make inanimate objects talk back to us.
I didn’t realize it was her version
of making our grey world
a little brighter.
Her weird but cute way
of seeing the world around us.
Her weird but cute way
of reminding me why I live.
Every day that goes by where a dog hasn’t talked,
I need to know what it says.
Every day that goes by where the birds haven’t sung,
my world becomes a little darker.
Every day that goes by where I haven’t heard your voice,
I try to make it sing lovely melodies in my head
like you did back in Queens
so I don’t go insane.
My sister taught me
that everything has a voice
and all voices must be heard.
So the next time you need a reminder to live,
I’ll tell you to make the dog talk.
Make the birds sing.
Tell me the thoughts of the river.
Show me how you see the world.
I’ll make it beautiful
just for you.
