Nostalgic

Written: 4/12/17; Published: 8/30/18

Remember that time

when you would climb to the highest

tree in our neighborhood,

the one that felt like Everest.

When you reached the top,

you would scream from

the depths of your soul

and bang your splintered hands

against your camo shirt.

Or the time when you ran

as far as you could

or at least until your mother

called you home for dinner.

Or what about when you talked

for hours, days, moments

about your new ball, or car, or friend

and your parents listened,

eyes wide and tired.

 

Now you just sit.

Your muscles have forgotten how to climb.

The only trek you make now is

to the kitchen. Now you only run

errands. Your voice has softened

to a whisper, making it hard to scream

or even to talk without first putting in your teeth.

Besides most of the things you could say,

have already been said.

Most of the things you could do,

have already been done.

So you sit and remember when.

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This poem is part of the “I am a writer” posts and “My works,” which can be found here (writer) and here (works). To see all posts, click here.
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Categories: I am a writer, My works

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