Remember
I had skinned knees and a red tank-top,
A child’s matching outfit, missing front teeth,
But I had everything I would ever need.
I remember Saturdays, 33 minutes away, Raymond Avenue and Papa’s blue pick-up truck…
Shoulder to shoulder and side by side with my cousins and brother as we rode in the bed beneath the clear Florida sky, next to orange groves and pineapple trees that were more like bushes, we found corners of the forest that had never been touched.
We filled our fingernails with dirt as we dug for buried treasure, chased after snakes before I knew I was afraid of them, innocent hands swinging plastic swords and firing water guns to defend the land our grandfather built with his bare hands.
We were given backyard hose baths after we finished our popsicles, clearing away the sticky streaks of red and blue that raced down our forearms. Car keys began to appear as rumblings of “Goodbye!” and “It was so good to see you!” filled the family room.
The sun stepped away, pulling its light through the leaves and Spanish moss of the giant oak trees and the thick clouds of cigarette smoke that poured from the mouths that said, “I love you.”
To this day I love that smell of cigarette smoke, like I love what life once was.
With hope,
Tanner