My sisters and I, we play this game,
"best free feelings" is the name.

Scissors gliding effortlessly through paper,
Lying on a pile of clothes fresh out the dryer.

A cool breeze and the first hint of fall,
The freshly sharpened tip of a pencil that was dull.

It's recognizing the small things that add up, but go unspoken.
It opens up your heart; to the game you're beholden.

It's you, Papa, mowing the grass you just mowed yesterday.
It's your effervescent laugh when you and Lennon play.

The first smell of a cigarette being lit,
your smile when you call me a little shit.

Remember that time we burnt down that tree?
The one with the hornets that killed our dog, Gooey?

To cancer, it's invading your cells and taking pieces of you over time.
It's suddenly stealing you, just before Christmastime.

When later that night, my sisters and I,
would have played the game and mentioned how your joy made you cry.

I'm sorry we've grown without you here,
The world spins on her own, she isn't slowed by our tears.

Now we know that feelings aren't free,
but there are parts of life that fill you with glee.

We learned those parts aren't guaranteed,
life will take them back, no matter how much you plead.

"I wonder if you knew your love would sustain me over a lifetime."

(I miss you, Papa. It's been too long. I hope you hear me.)