Regret

I sat criss-cross in my chair
shoes tapping in the wind
to the words uttered
by my father — words
I don’t remember, though
I remember

his face: my grandfather’s —
too white and too pink
across the cheeks. A candle
in a casket — if I touched him
he would burst to life: place
one hand on each side
of his wooden bed
and lift himself
out.

Emily Lott is an aspiring writer who loves to explore the human condition. She is a full-time biomedical studies student residing in Canada. You can find her poetry on instagram (@myelusivewords).