Colors

On a humid summer’s night- a night marked by sweat, my grandpa tucked me in despite the air thick like a blanket. Sitting beside me on my bed- reflection in his voice and smile, I loved the way he spoke to me as if I wasn’t just a child. “When you’re old like me- Your mind is all you have left. Strive for learning and you won’t need a day of rest.” The next school year brought a new love- one which made me feel taller. As my teacher sat reading a poem about colors. And I fell in love with this poem- Memorized it with ease. So I could recite it down to the pauses for parenthesis. My mom fell in love- in love with my new found love. And before I fell asleep, what my grandpa said was all I could think of. My grandpa passed away that following summer- The summer I turned six. My mom told me a poem about the moon and the stars and how people will be missed. I didn’t see it then- how much poetry could mean to me, but with their help I feel as if I can preserved his memory.