It isn't the dirt that clings to my shoes
or the scent of cedar or pine
It's not the gold of hay as it dries
or the ruts of old plowed fields.
It is the brush of an ancestor's shoulder
felt while inside the barn.
It is the taste of fresh picked black-eyed peas
It's in their snapping.
It's a pull to who they were
tingling my wrist as fingers work old leather.
It's the feel of her old red sweater
pulled tightly against younger arms.
It's the memory of their laughter
the warmth of potato soup
The roots of an onion
pulled from a garden started so long ago.
Author notes
Just so you know
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Reflections
in the mind of days gone by, a real homey collection of thoughts and feelings magically transformed into loving and just a tad melancholy words! I have a place too where I pick up such vibes, sadly tho it is now 6000 miles away... I really relate to yr poem
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This just creates such a powerful connection with a loving and nurturing past. Your words are very visual and paint a picture of honest simplicity in the most wholesome and supportive way, comfort in a word. Wonderful write Maddie.
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I love the warmth of this poem. So many soothing images and thoughts stirred in my mind. The soup of ancestry and the old ways of doing things. It is good to remember our family history and the history of man. The past has this beauty to offer. Lovely, tasteful write. ~ Joyce
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past meets present...to forge future...
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