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.
Copyright © William Donovan | Year Posted 2017
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