Papa, written by Jessica Buchanan
In the Boars Head hat with the elastic completely worn.
In your eyes right where the lights
I’m numb and I think
So I don’t forget your chair at the center of the table.
That album filled to the brim with pictures and
But those words keep slipping through my grip.
It keeps fading.
The old phone charger in a hotel room in Jersey.
Your wise cracks delivered in perfect time.
In front of myself.
To remember that I’ll be the reminder.
A living memory.
And not always a thing completely torn.