What Beauty Is
A week before my birthday, in April
I was ready to blow out those fifteen candles
Ready to celebrate
Ready to be older, with more privileges
Everything was happy, normal
Nothing was out of the ordinary
No heavy burdens or worries
Until a phone call
I heard my mom’s muffled screams
And her cries of grief and shock.
My aunt died.
I wished that it was a nightmare,
But its honesty ran chills down my spine.
I looked for answers in her eyes
For some type of hope
For some type of escape,
But all I found behind her wet, long eyelashes were blank walls.
I don’t know why she died.
Her heart was as precious as gold,
Always open and forgiving
Always ready to give
To serve God and his people
Constantly overflowing with knowledge
Wanting to teach others
Filled with joy and family
She soared like the scissortail
Zigzagging through obstacles
Turning the other cheek
Living a beautiful life
Like the scissortail,
She was striking, unmistakable
But like the scissortail,
She was rare.
And it seems as if I only caught a quick glimpse of her
But why her?
Why did God pick her?
Was she a blossomed red rose
In this world filled with thorns?
Or a ripe tomato amongst unripe ones?
Or perhaps a finished adventure book
Surrounded by unfinished fantasy books?
I don’t know.
And I don’t understand why
But I shouldn’t question.
My birthday passed
No candles, no celebration, no privileges
Wishing for one night,
My aunt and I
With the earth as our pillow
And heaven—our blanket
We can reminisce about our lives.
How they were fulfilling,
But never regretful.
How we can only hope that our mark is not forgotten
And how she reflects what beauty is.