A Renovation MAG

June 4, 2012
By christalove39 BRONZE, Eagle Point, Oregon
christalove39 BRONZE, Eagle Point, Oregon
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

My childhood slips
from between my fingers
like the string of red balloon
and drifts into gray sky.
As it rises
I remember
how my feet
in my chair at the dinner table
barely brushed the floor
and how my mother's ivory hand
as smooth as polished rock
but warm like a blanket
could envelop my own
and she would kiss it
leaving her lips on my palm.
I remember the sound of laughter
mixed with the clink of wine glasses
the dog's bark at a passing car
the paternal hum of the heater
the screech of the tea kettle
my brother's steady breathing
when I fell asleep on his shoulder.
I carry memory in my pockets
chew on it by handfuls
and the taste is bitter
but rich
like unsweetened chocolate.
Change smells like a distant fire
and the wind carries flakes of ash
that settle in the corners of my eyes
and burn.


The author's comments:
This poem represent my feelings about the growing up process and the bittersweet memories of childhood.

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