I am cold with three blankets on

There is frostbite gripping at my toes as I pull them in close

The first reminds me of the time the power went out

We all snuggled into your bed and your touch made me feel safe,

And nothing else

I remember the times you sang for me and the poems you wrote on my behalf,

My heart was so avaliable that I readily sang back

Now when the boy with the blonde hair and the cuts on his legs sings his soul for me the way you did

Alone in the parking lot

My clouded mind pours raindrops into my lap

Because your music is too loud in my head for me to sing my own

He wants to drive but I walk home alone

The second makes me see the time you walked around the house on christmas eve ringing sleigh bells to make us believe

How every year you bought us mittens and you wrapped them yourself

This year you sent a sweater

You and the blonde haired boy both sent letters my eyes will never read

They live inside a world that has only your words within

The third was mid july when you looked at her on midnight canyon road

Your song moved fasted down the valley than the sun could go to bed

But mostly I remember the way you looked at me,

in mid July.

Your eyes were even darker than I had anticipated

They cut me into revines for the rain to pour out until the storm could leave a desert

They pierced me deeper than the words that didn’t sound like songs anymore

I remember that the only songs you ever sang were for yourself

I remember that every poem was for you

Then I remember that my toes are cold

And I wonder if yours are too

This poem is about: 
My family


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