Where the Greenest Grass Grows

I wonder what you’d look like now.

Would laugh lines cross your face?

Would they be the map to all the emotions

you’d experienced through the years?

I bet by now you’d have traveled the world twice,

drinking up the experiences your childhood never allowed.

You’d love and you’d lose some but you’d learn from them all.

Would sarcasm still be your armor?

Would your vulnerability still be reserved for a select few

or would all the folks in foreign coffee shops get your secrets too?

Instead you’re still in your youth,

eternally frozen as a teenager,

watching the world grow and change

from your gravesite.

The grass around your grave

has always grown the greenest to me.

For Sara on her birthday