She was family,
not only an aunt,
she was a best friend.
Jabbering everyday
touching on life or the ocean.
Strange to know,
how the burly area in my memory,
dwells on her hands taped around her peppermint tea.
Like a picture in a book,
you'd find her at the edge of the beach.
Tea in hand,
where she felt as if that's where the sea began.
I'd catch her murmuring,
"We're all just little fish, In this big world."
Sipping the peppermint tea...
it's almost as when her lips touched the cup,
is what triggered that imagination.
Well we both watched all the phases of the moon,
on the ocean corner,
everyday and year.
Even at the last year.
Lasting with hospital food,
water,
only surrounded by cut flowers,
and paintings of the sun.
Last of her strong peach smile.
It was the day she slept.
Bottles of the sea lined a path.
I walked up the line,
up and to her what used to be a colored face,
and put in her hands of what she loved,
to imagine,
and sound,
a box of peppermint tea.
