when the wind remembers

I am from mythic hues of orange and blues, 

Where the setting sun greets the gentle waves.

From solemn mornings and soft bed sheets,

To boisterous cackles and tire swings,

I am from the jostling of jewelry—

and clanking wind chimes.

The little things I can't get back;

But am glad to have called mine.

 

I am freshly littered puddles on a frozen playground,

A quiet chaos,

like tangled wires spilling garbled sound.

Or sleep-ridden car rides and home cooked meals,

Long forgotten letters,

And reminiscing on how things used to feel.
 
 

I come from golden meadows hidden beneath weathered pines,

Where leaves dance and weave in the

somber breeze of time

From cozy, handknit sweaters and the sound of flip flops,

To fruit scented nail polish and condensation drops,

I come from soul crushing hugs—

the refusal to move on—

The muted grief of accepting what’s long been gone.