Rememberings

I remember the day
When my dad took first took me fishing.
The small pond was as round as my bobber.
I reeled in my catch; he dangled it near my face
And told me to kiss it.
I asked why with revulsion, and he replied,
“It heals the cut where the fish was hooked of course!”
Hundreds of fish I have tenderly kissed since that day.

I remember the fresh spring day
At my grandparents’ house on Main Street.
Many days I have spent swinging on their white wicker porch swing,
But this day I swung with my grandfather.
We sung the tunes of the newly nesting birds that flew around the house
As he shucked corn with his old calloused hands
And I shucked corn with my young freckled hands.

Oh, I remember that autumn day
When I came home from school—
My mother told me to tell her about my day
And she sneakily took pictures of me.
Many of those pictures decorate our hallways.
Those pictures are worth a thousand words,
Yet they don’t say much at all.

I’ve been remembering lately the days like these
And I think about how the times have changed
But a thought in the back of my mind says
That at least one thing has stayed the same:
Although I am grown up
I still find pleasure in these beautiful
Rememberings.