The Smell of Nag Champa

The smell of Nag Champa incense.

The kind that comes in a blue box from India.

A black and white cat that you raised from a kitten,

And rescued from a pizza box.

Tattoos and energy drinks.

Gas stations and heavy metal music.

Always having your own opinion and not caring who disagreed with you.

These are the things that make me think of you.

I didn’t know you as well as some,

But that doesn’t mean your death didn’t have an impact on me.

I saw the potential for friendship and I enjoyed being around you.

You had a blunt honesty that most people lack.

You had a heart attack at age 30 and the hospital said you were too young for this to happen.

The echogram of your heart brought a tear to my eye.

Major blockages were forming, and still, you were too young for this?

You had been to the Emergency room weeks before for chest pains.

You had insurance. Why didn’t the doctors check you out closer?

You passed away in the same hospital I used to work at.

It's scary thinking the staff could have missed something that would have saved you.

That you could still be here with us.

Some people are meant to walk this earth longer than others.

You left behind friends and family that miss you.

They even dressed up your urn for Halloween.

All it took was a Mister Potato head mustache and you were Burt Reynolds.

Next year you will be an M&M,

With blue painters tape over your candy shaped urn and an “M’ drawn on with a black sharpie.

Your memory is still alive.

A piece of you is always with us.

You made me realize life really is too short and we need to appreciate the people around us.

Your photo has now made the wall of dead people that you started in the house on Eastern in the stairway.

Rest in Peace Dan

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This poem is featured in the poetry collection "Passing Skeletons."

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