Deceitful Memories

Standing in the kitchen, the house is silent. Mama’s door is shut. She’s sleeping or hiding Floral lined stoneware, in faded blue A cluster of sticky notes, with the day’s “to do” Two warm, brown pitchers of sweetnlow tea Daddy must have been here, just before me Working through my thoughts, while shooting some hoops Then strolling around front, to chill on the stoop Greeted by a kitty, to join me for my walk She weaves between my legs and sure likes to talk Forgoing the stairs, I opt for the swing Humming birds and bees, tell me, it’s spring Alone, once again, I drift off in daydream I focus, intense, then ponder what it means So much sadness, I feel. It’s all that I know Such a burden I carry, to not let it show So why do I insist, on coming back home The first of many dark places, I’d be, before grown A nostalgic fixation? Or glorified memories? Turns out, my subconscious, disguised the enemies