Tomatoes

Tomatoes remind me of Grandpa

I ate my first tomato when I was five.

...I thought it was an apple

Imagine my surprise as I looked up at Grandpa,

His face scruching up into his half smile.

My disgust, as I looked down at my hand

But because Grandpa was eating one,

I forced myself to eat it too.

He had a line of plants growing against the brick wall by the shed.

He loved those tomatoes, though I never understood why

I remember them being huge,

Vines and leaves stretching towards the sun

SometimesI go back and look at the "Tomato Place"

These days it's nothing but a weed-covered patch.

But I remember.

I remember that for every weed,

A massive red tomato used to occupy its' space

And I think that  that's the beautiful thing about memories.

Though the space is completely over-taken by time,

And the people have long ago vanished,

As long as one person remembers

Nothing is ever really gone