So day three is an elegy, and originally I was planning on doing something, idk lame and not this emotionally investing. However, after fighting all day while I worked to come up with some decent lines (I managed like…3) I realized that forcing myself to write something edgy and (frankly) inane wasn’t working.
So here’s Yellow Roses, an elegy to my Grandpa Lee who died nine years ago, but damn am I still heart-sore. An usual fact about my grandpa: He really, really liked the color yellow. Like a lot. Of all the bright colors that were his favorite, yellow was his go too. At his funeral not only was almost every single flower there yellow, but we planted, I do believe, two yellow rose bushes near his grave.
Yellow roses set in a yellow vase
By your rusty old orange stove,
Oh, I remember your little bright apartment
Across the lake and down the road.
Milky sweet rice and basketball on the T.V
The hands I held, so warm and rough – now cold.
My childhood was spent pink springs and summers quietly
As you told me of all the beautiful places I’d go.
So many yellow roses set in yellow vases,
You said you’d love a little yellow house to own
And as a child I thought it all too bright the sight
Of all the yellows, oranges, and pinks of your shirts and home.
Everywhere, they’re everywhere, Grandfather.
Yellow silky the casket lining, yellow all the roses.
Oh, the things I’ll do in pink memory of you.
Oh, all the places I’ll have to finally go.