2023-2024, Poem, Writing


Amelia Frick, '27

i’m still sad
even though when you died, i didn’t cry 
that doesn’t mean i didn’t feel pain

everytime i get a Christmas card from family 
it hurts that i can’t send one to you
that you can’t read it and say
“That’s my granddaughter.”

when i look back on my childhood memories yours is a recurring face 
the Christmas parties you would hold with the whole family
your laugh that everyone got then, yearns for now
i remember playing dominoes with you
i haven’t played them since

my family that cried when you died is talking about your house 
the new people that moved in re-did it all
re-painted, re-floored, re-modeled
i can’t tell which room is which
where the room the pizza always was
where the room where we watched Judge Judy in 
where the playroom was
where the room your bed was in

it’s all white 
a stark white
the white that covered up the, what they viewed as, outdated 
i miss the comfort your walls brought to my soul
the aroma of dust and memories

i didn’t cry at your funeral
you would’ve wanted me to remember you as alive and happy 
so i took that responsibility off of your shoulders

all of the couples sitting in church pews 
my mom and dad in one
my aunt and uncle in another
my oma and opa in the front
then me
behind my mom and dad 

i know me crying would bring my mom to tears so 
i didn’t
i only cry about it to my pew partner
to me

you’re buried next to my uncle
if there’s an afterlife, you’re in heaven 
you and him
the both of you
such kind souls

 i know you lived a good life
and maybe im selfish for still wanting you here 
but frankly, i don’t care
i want your hugs
and your laughter
and your kindness

i don’t believe in the soul,
but if i did you would be the purest form

i miss you