I Miss the Old Home

After the street cars left, but before the mill closed down, this was home. A mix of dirt roads and brick buildings, so close together in town, like children under a blanket, huddled for warmth. The farms so spread out, your closest neighbor could be miles and every time the farmers came to town for supplies, they brought new children we never knew were born, some almost a year old. Long dresses were all the rage, never show your ankles to a stranger. When grandma wore her housecoat to pull in laundry we gasped at seeing her ankles. Dust filled the air, blown around when the storm came through, making it all clean and muddy at the same time. I miss the old home.