i remember some of it, from when i was young.
the shoes on the power line,
the walk to the beach.
a vague memory of warmth from dead kin.
she lived longer than him, but not long enough for me to know her as i am.
her small condo, filled with the smell of dust and dog.
how she always smelled.
i took a blue flannel, and it smelled like her.
i took granddads old captain hat, a relic i couldn't even remember.
if only i could remember.
