Seashells

I used to bring you seashells

You always stayed at home

Chipped and smooth from tumlbing in the undertow

Always made much sweeter by your constant slipping smile

that always hung so low, I haven't seen it in a while

And to day in the sunlight

and sweating from the heat

Welcoming the salty spray

on the sandy beach

with a distant grin I smile one thousand miles from home

looking at the seashells sitting right there all alone

As I watched, turning skyward, to see the birds flying low

Looking for a fish or crab, or just a place to go

I realize how lonesome it is to finally feel free

So picking up this broken shell,

Ill carry it with me I wrote this poem about my great grandmother who was always a constant in my life growing up. She was a matriarch of our family and through great pains of love and sacrifice, had raised nearly four generations of children into (somewhat) competent adults. Her story was always very interesting to me and Im lucky to have gotten to spend the time with her that I did. In fact, if Im being honest, every bit of goodness I can take pride in myself really comes from living by her example. I can distinctly remember the sound of her feet shuffling in hallway, I remember how fragile her hands felt, and how cold her skin always was. I remember the way she would sometimes fall asleep making dinner, her distaste for yellow cars and the smell of her este ladder foundation which she applied so heavily sometimes its powder ended up on our toothbrushes as kids. What I most remember is that while the rest of my family seemed to always have something more important going on, something they were upset with or angry about, something new and terrifying to obsess over; she was always there. An anchor, and really my entire support system for a long, long time. The emotional toll of watching so many things come and go had seasoned her life into a sense of stability and for me that meant everything. Towards the end I used to hear her pray for death because the physical pain of a lifelong in servitude had become unbearable. Listening to her cry out, I used to pray for it too. She passed when I turned 18 and I don't know if it was because of this that I never really processed it until almost a decade later sitting on DelRay beach, FL at 630 in the morning but it wasn't on purpose, I guess sometimes things just come from out of nowhere. This was never intended to be a song until the video below was captured during an impromptu jam session with our now guitarist Dan Adams, before ideas of the band were even a thing. The song has been in production for a few years but has since been left on the back burner. There's no hidden meanings here, no secret metaphors, no passable wisdom. Her birthday was last week and I miss her dearly. My grandmother was someone I loved and took care of, who loved and took care of me. It was as simple, and complex, as that.