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two years pass...
poem for school:
Home
I am from the place where loud music fills rooms,
Where science fiction litters tables and shelves,
And raggedy, not-so-stuffed animals comfort even those who shall not pass.
I am from the driveway that I would bike down for hours,
From the baby blue porch, the paint peeling like old wallpaper,
And the miniature ravine behind our house, a new adventure every time.
I am from the neglected planters - filled with mint and basil,
From the small tree to which our dog was chained,
And the ever-expanding grapevine jungle, knotted with weeds and thorns.
I am from my great grandmother Hope’s kindness and wisdom,
From my uncle Jason’s constant joking,
And my aunt Robin’s insightful nature.
I am from “many hands make light work,”
From “a watched pot never boils,”
And “never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I am from frothy banana smoothies, a “banana blend,” if you will,
From my dad’s vegetable pasta bake, where seconds are expected,
And a genuine Philly cheese steak from my birthplace.
I am from the rustic Green Cabin, and fashioning seaweed wigs,
From Cedar Tree Neck, the trees twisted and inviting,
And the Girl’s Club on the corner, where making lines was almost fun.
I am from raucous Yankee Swaps, fighting over a cashmere scarf,
From fast-paced Easter egg hunts with family and friends,
And the warm Thanksgivings that I hid from, playing Mario Brothers.
I am from the Seat of the Synod, source of vedalken arcana,
From the Temple Garden, and Godless Shrine,
And the Glimmervoid, where an empty canvas holds infinite possibilities.
I am from the chime of a piano, and practicing faster than I should,
From the aroma of garlic bread, fresh out of the oven,
And the din of heavy metal, through my dad’s gargantuan speakers.
I am from the place where loose nails line the treacherous attic floor,
Where memories are as cluttered as the closets that hold them,
And where a disheveled home is just as warm.
― scott seward, Thursday, 8 October 2015 17:35 (eight years ago) link
rufus, however, is not here to answer questions. he's 12 now, much too busy.
― scott seward, Thursday, 8 October 2015 17:36 (eight years ago) link
one year passes...
nine months pass...
three years pass...
two years pass...