Memories

Memories In a box in an attic are my memories. They smell old and are yellowed; Fragile in aged hands as I hold them. Distant parts of me come back to life. I see a boy hitting a baseball in the dirt. I see awkward dance lessons as a kid. I smell pizza my sister bought me with babysitting money. She was my sanctuary. There are summers at the pool with chlorine eyes and sexual awakening with Patty 2 piece. Midwest heat and storms and lazy discovery. Greenhills, Ohio. The center of my universe.