Saying Goodbye

I see that scar on your chest

that I trace with my fingertips

all the way up to your patches

of facial hair

and down to your

happy trail.

I feel your fingertips- they are

always so cold- and squeeze

three times to say, “I love you”.

I work my way to your forehead

to wipe the dark smudge stained

into your skin.

I run my fingers through your

long brown locks- voted best hair

2016- and down your arm

over the words “you are

appreciated”

that are engraved into your

skin in my handwriting.

I kiss your forehead and think

of the birthmark on your butt

that your Granny showed me

the first time I went to her house

and how happy you must be

to see her again.

I think about our long car rides

home from campus, when you

would only listen to Tupac,

Biggie, or Rick Astley.

I don’t want to say that

I will miss you because I don’t

want to admit that you are

really gone. I fell asleep behind

the wheel and was fine, but

you fell asleep and a drunk

driver claimed your life. It

isn’t fair. It should have been

me. You wanted to be

the next Steve Irwin or

Bill Nye. But instead

you were the next

angel in heaven.

2-27-2018