dear patricia,

it was a cold saturday last time i saw you in october.

7 years has changed everything. the world spun 7 times, i grew 7 more inches

aged 7 more years, dad cried for 7 days, brother was only 7.

it had taken 7 seconds for you to go but 7 years for me to talk about it.

your breath was gone. stolen from you. youd never break the surface again.

youd be buried 7 days after but 6 feet under. youd be talked about for 7 weeks,

we'd hear 7 diffrent stories about your 11680 days on this ruthless, broken, world.

youd spend 10 years growing with us and playing 7 songs by etta james,

7 movies, and washing 7 loads of laundry.

id spend 7 anxious days waiting to see you again.

it would take 7 seconds for my brain to understand you were not there

your shell layed in a 6 foot, pearl, casket that transported you to the ground below me.

why are you going down but grandma says youre going up?

mom, patricia, in 7 seconds you were taken, 32 years for you to go,

10 years for me to hold you, 18 years for dad to kiss you,

why 7 seconds for a lifetime of a story?