A poem written after they died: "Witch Haze"
Yellow is often the elected representative of happiness and joy, but it can also reflect fear, caution, and anxiety.
![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,fl_progressive,q_auto,w_1024/6686be36a7dbbc001ea96e38.png)
There’s this lump in my throat that I carry with
the same skewed reverence as my broken sapphire wallet.
I hold it extra close in the grocery stores, in public, even though it’s not of any value to a stranger.
It’s embarrassing, really, because it causes me to fumble for my debit card at the register, makes me frustrated in crowds of people, makes me seem broke…
I’m not sure what I should do with it—what I can do with it.
Perhaps that’s caused me to coddle it a bit like some rescue pet,
because some priest on the Sunday cable channel said we should value all gifts.
And it was a gift bestowed unto me with my mother’s voice, and my father’s silence.
I don’t know what will happen if I let it go.
Won’t it just end up somewhere else, but less understood? Less appreciated? Less known?
Edit: I threw it away circa 2020.
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