I remember

his boat and

fishing off his dock.

I remember

the smell 

of Lake St. Clair’s water

that filled my nose

as I breathed in. 

I remember 

when I felt a tug on my fishing line,

the smile 

that took over his face 

filled with so much excitement

that you could see the joy in his eyes

because I caught a fish. 

I remember 

falling off my scooter

scraping my knee.

I remember 

the tears streaming 

down my face

that he wiped away

with his rough hands 

that I could feel 

against my smooth cheeks.

I remember 

the mints he kept

in his pocket during church,

and the laughs we shared 

while trying to be quiet  

when opening the loud wrapper

as it echoed 

throughout the church.

I remember

the looks 

people would give us.

As if the crinkling wrapper

Was a baby that wouldn’t stop crying. 

I remember 

his laugh 

that sounded like he was Santa Claus 

so full of joy 

and happiness.

I remember 

sharing a birthday 

every year. 

I remember

you said I was your birthday gift.

A simple difference

in time zone

made me born 

on your birthday 

18 years ago.

I remember.