.:Grandparents:.

 

The stark afternoon

a mix of wintry cold,

spliced by the distant rumble of an idling truck.

I remember.

 

I remember,

cutting logs, to stack by the front door.

Big piles turning larger,

smoke billowing from the tiny chimney.

A little dog perched on my lap, on the porch swing.

I remember,

empty soda cans strewn across the table by your chair.

Popcorn drowned in butter,

and the sound of an old Western show.

I remember,

thick paperback books, stacked on your nightstand.

The deep, wispy laughter of an elderly couple,

too young to be old.

 

But mostly,

I remember home.

 

-Savannah

 

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