Bluejays

Mourning is a tough thing.

Especially when you mourn someone who is still alive.

When you mourn their death because to you, they are gone.

When every place you ever felt safe as a child no longer belongs to you.

When every turn and corner of this small town reminds you of her.

You see cardinals, and you wave to them as if they’re her

because you believe her conscience is all around you.

You have to so you can keep going on with life.

Because she was the last thing that was keeping you on this

earthly plane, and now that she’s gone, you aren’t sure how to go on.

So you keep looking for her, in every single little thing.

In books, in the clouds, in the birds.

Her voice whispers along the trees in

pages of verse she sings back to you.

She sings you the songs she rocked

you to sleep with every night with the

pitter patter of rain against your window.

Without that, you don’t think you could keep

going on. And on the bad days,

where you park in front of your childhood home

and cry, she flies by in the form a bluejay

and tells you to wipe your tears because she’s right here.

She always will be, just out of reach

but not too far from you. She loves you,

and she’ll always be nearby.

Just not in the way you want,

but in the way you’re going to need as you grow.