Natalie Worosz - February 14, 2025
Artwork: Cameryn Maymon
She smelled like pineapples,
her hands are soft like river stones.
Brushing my hair, humming lullabies,
her voice was always gentle, just like a morning breeze.
The house felt full when she spoke,
her laughter thick like honey,
and I remember the sound of her stories,
her words flowing through the house,
everyone listened as she spoke.
She’d pour tea, letting it cool on the table,
the steam curling up like her hair,
while her smile warmed the room like sunlight, steady, sure, never fading away.
Now, the quiet is where I find her—
in the empty chair,
the cold tea, the wind that calls her name,
it’s as if she’s just stepped out for a quick trip.
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