subject line: if you were here.


ghana, africa

Its the day after Christmas, dad.
Yesterday, we ate rice and vegetables from the plates we used at your funeral.
We hang up Christmas decor too.
They were red and yellow and blue
And I miss you.
And I wish this story had a different ending
With you walking through the door-
Our slim dark Santa.
But you’re breathing life into the flowers that grow above you
And you can’t be here.
And when you’re not here,
No one else brings the parcel.