Maybe I Just Remember It That Way

memories bake like chalk drawings

in the sun, doodled on the sidewalk

outside your childhood home.

School is starting.

Air is cooling.

But I no longer smell pencil shavings

or wipe away

the discarded shards

of a stubby pink eraser,

well-used.

Nights are cooler.

Crickets chirp loudly.

Enough to keep me lying awake

with my window open.

Sunflowers open—

a maze

taller than me,

a thousand round brown eyes

encircled by golden rays.

Harvest is coming.

Back home, it was time for corn.

But here, in New England,

it is time for apples.

Time for cider.

Cool sand at night

slipping between your toes.

Beaches and bonfires.

Dandelion fluff flutters away on the breeze.

The smell of grass clippings dampens the air.

The air takes on an umber cast,

a world of bronze-gold before the autumn,

when colors play freely.

Buy Me A Rose 🥀