I breathe in one of the last few breaths I will ever take from this house again. Piles of what to keep and what should go litter the floor along with photos, memories.
Playing in the garden of who I think is my great aunt.
Swaying back and forth on a swing, that will pinch you if you work her too hard.
Lounging around a fire with family, looking up at the stars and wondering if they can hear you.
Now we will throw the old memories away, perhaps they will go to a new home, but we will start all over again, creating new ones mostly the same, except one person is missing.
Utah Street resident, Avalon Edwards, 17, a senior at Urban School, wrote this poem about her Grand-paw.
