Here I Am When . . . ?

Today, I am 

the dark coolness of Gram’s

mobile home, smelling 

of oiled wood paneling, 

butterscotch candies, and 

crayons

I am 

bubble residue on the bottom of 

the kitchen cupboard soiling 

the box that safeguards the 

broom and the mop

I am 

sliced tomatoes and

tuna salad that

I will not eat though

the smell of each fills

my now-stooping 

heart and mouth with

longing

I am 

a door swinging open

to a corner lot like

a gold star on 

a sheet of paper with

lines alternating

solid and dashed

and a watercolor green globe

dotted with persimmons

I am

heat-softened asphalt 

petrichor and gasoline odors

wafting skyward in chevrons

to a tepid swimming pool

I am

an aquamarine jewel set

in spilled milk concrete

I am

a tin box filled

with the stickiness of

peppermints and butterscotch discs

melting smaller

flatter

riddled with holes

knowing 

soon I will

be only a memory

I am

both

a memory and

alive