A Walk Through My Past

On the backroads I feel free.

I roll down the windows of the old,

Worn down blue chevy farm truck,

Smelling the fresh air like a crisp breezy fall day.

Waving to a neighbor as I pass him by.

Turning onto that old gravel driveway,

I see the creaky white barn that is home to my great grandad’s cattle,

And the many farm cats.

I walk past the barn and up to my great-grandad’s wood workshop.

So many memories in this broken down tool shed.

I can smell the sawdust as if he’d been working on boards all day.

I miss how I could hear the grinding of the saw,

The sound of pencil lead on the grains of wood,

The way the cats would congregate around the door waiting to be fed.

I stand in the doorway and gaze at it all.

The broken-down dusty bench,

The shelves of hammers, screwdrivers, and saw blades that lined the wall.

I feel a tear roll down my face,

It hits the gash I got from the cat I attempted to catch.

But the stinging doesn’t faze me from my trance.

I walk slowly down to the house.

Wandering into the old, run down kitchen,

I catch the the faint whiff of fresh cornbread.

Memories coursing through me,

Like a movie that you can never forget.

I’m watching my great grandmother pat her foot softly on the floor,

Humming It Is Well while she mixes together a batch of cornbread.

I tread into the living room,

Remembering the last Christmas party we had before they died.

I’m sprawled out on the floor,

Great grandma in her rocking chair, and grandad in his pumpkin orange recliner.

Hearing the cuckoo clock go off every half-hour.

I find myself outside looking onto the dead rows of corn and beans.

I sit on the porch swing and let the memories overtake me,

Like an internal uncontrolled flame

That is burning me from the inside out.

I sit here letting the tears flow like a water line combusting inside me.

I walk to my great grandad’s old blue chevy,

The cool breeze drying my tears.

This will always be home to me.

I will never forget.