I wrote this years ago, but the photo made me dig it up to share:Out in the GarageI bought a housefor my daughter and Ito live inafter two yearsin different apartmentsand I desperately wantedto give her a homethat will grow in her memoriesas a place of comfortwhere she will knowthat she belongsbut it wasn’t untilI pulled up the garage doorto that smell of old airthat dustycut grasslawn mowerengine oilenamel based paint fumesmingled with wet cardboard boxesintoxicating memoriesof grandpa,dad,and husbandwho have all gonewith the yearsbut come backwith that waftof yesterday’s odorthat welcomed usand let us knowwe’re home.
"that will grow in her memoriesas a place of comfortwhere she will knowthat she belongs"This is especially touching, Patricia. The whole poem is so tangible through your sensory details.Thank you, for sharing it with us!Smiles!
OK...if Patricia can leave a poem on the fiction site, so can I. :)RUSTIC PLACES IN MY MINDan imagea flashmy mind recallsthe smell of strawthe swoosh of swallowsthe specks of dustdancing in sunbeamsand the tiniest of mewscoming from placeshidden deep withinall accompanied bythe ever presentcrooning of the likes ofConway Twittyand Tammy Wynetteon the old transistorDad never turned off
No you can't. You do fiction quite well. Keep the poetry to those poetry places. Give me a little story; you have one in you. ;)
A nice piece though.
Sorry...I'll keep my poems from straying in the future.
OUT TO THE SHEDIt was a dark place. Corbin Jenks visited it often. Sometimes to get a tool, or a part. Sometimes to get a switch for his father to whip him. There were times Corbin went in there after his father died and screamed until his lungs hurt worse than any whipping he remembered.Antoine Jenks wasn't a brutal man by nature. God-fearing church goer. A successful farmer. A loving husband, doting father to Corbin's sister who could do no wrong, and an impatient teacher to the son who more than anything wanted his father's approval. Antoine's problem was simple. He drank a bit. Correction: He drank a lot. And when Antoine drank a lot, he was a lousy son-of-a-bitch.If he brought the wrong tool, Corbin was hollered at. If a chore wasn't done quickly and thoroughly he got whipped like an old mule. And when Antoine brought Corbin out to the shed. Corbin knew there was hell to pay.A father's love and approval was all that was required of him. But it was never offered; it was never an option. So the day his fallen hero fell off of his tractor clutching his chest, Corbin watched him writhe and gasp, until he gasped no more.So that morning they put Antoine under the soil, Corbin went out to the shed one last time. He felt this need to hang around for a while. To collect his thoughts. To exorcise him demons. But, his thoughts were his demons. So he hung around long enough to end those thoughts. And when they cut the rope to bring him down, Corbin was finally equal to his father. Side-by-side, under the soil.