tense shoulders and cracked dry hands
and quiet car rides and loud pool days.
tall trees and the kitchen sink
and a stash of empty smarties wrappers.
resting your eyes and reheating your coffee
and a spot-on Donald Duck impression.
“got it, maverick?” and “got it, goose”
and heavy footsteps across the upstairs hallway.
a smelly, smoky, stained black sweatshirt
and pistachios and road trip beef jerky.
contagious giggles and “allergy” caused tears
and late night flashlight walks in the woods.
punk, pumpkin, baby, bug
and “what do we want on the pizza this time?”
Into the Mystic and Harvest Moon
and you always went to bed earlier than us.
red rocks crunch beneath my boots
and we roll a new stone by the old mossy ones.
if time moves at all, I hope you move with it,
and I’ll pack my bags with these bits and pieces.
