There’s a street in New Orleans
That still remembers him
I hear it in the saxophone cries
Floating through the wind
Candles burning in stained-glass light
Choir humming soft and low
And every time those church bells ring
Lord… somehow I know
He ain’t really gone.
My poppy walked like an old hymn sounded
Slow, steady, full of grace
Eyes worn tired from helping people
But heaven shining on his face
Deacon hands and a river soul
Southern gentle to the bone
The kind of man who’d carry everybody’s hurt
And never speak about his own
And when I was little
Lord, I thought he hung the moon
Perched high on his shoulders
Under those wild Louisiana tunes
Mardi Gras beads flying everywhere
Trumpets shaking the night air
He’d hold my legs so I wouldn’t fall
While saints marched through Jackson Square
I can still hear him laughing
Big and warm above the crowd
Like no darkness in this whole world
Could ever touch us now
Ohhhh…
But time keeps moving like the river rolls
And somehow little girls grow old
Yet some loves never loosen their hold
No matter how many years unfold
I remember grandma’s band playing slow
While cigarette smoke curled gold
Poppy swaying beside the stage
Like music lived inside his soul
He’d tap his hand against the table
Close his eyes and softly grin
Like he could hear heaven singing harmony
Somewhere deep within
And when my brother lost himself
When life got mean and heavy
Poppy showed up every single time
Before mama even asked him ready
No spotlight
No grand display
Just quiet love showing up anyway
That was him.
Lord… that was him.
But what breaks me now
Is how I still feel him here
Not memory.
Not imagination.
Him.
Sometimes it happens late at night
When the whole house falls still
And the air changes all at once
Like the room itself can feel
A warmth moves down the hallway slow
Though every window’s closed
And I’ll smell coffee, Old Spice, church cologne
Out of nowhere in the cold
I freeze every single time.
Because for one split second
I swear he’s standing there.
There’s been nights I felt a hand
Rest softly on my shoulder
The same way he used to
When storms made my heart feel older
And once when I was crying hard
Begging God for some kind of sign
The lamp beside me flickered twice
Right when his favorite hymn crossed my mind
I just sat there shaking.
Because deep down…
I knew.
Ohhhhh…
Tell me why the room grows warmer
Every time I speak your name
Why do I hear your footsteps sometimes
When no one else remains?
And people can say what they want to say
That grief just plays tricks on your soul
But they never knew a love this strong
That death itself couldn’t let go
I’ve dreamed him too.
Lord, I’ve dreamed him clear as day.
Not blurry.
Not distant.
Real.
Standing in his Sunday suit
Near a glowing church door white
Looking younger, peaceful, whole
Bathed in soft gold light
Sometimes he says nothing at all
Just smiles like he used to do
But somehow in
shelbskj_99
