MEMORY

A house with

a front porch

and a hammock

to dream in

as the bees buzz

before the call to supper.

Across the street the

ring of horseshoes

the smell of biscuits

baking.

He comes across

the street, smiling

with thining hair and

holes in the elbows of his sweater.

These are the

memories I

taste

as clearly as I

feel myself

now.