My Life In Word

Memory in the Wind

I listen to the wind—
faint whispers of yesterday
tickle my skin.

My memory exhales,
memories whirl like
windblown leaves.

I hear his weathered
voice call my name—
not Mona, but Muuna.

I smell peppermint
and cracked leather,
his boots worn thin.

My nose twitches
from the aroma
of his spit bucket,
full of liquified tubaccah—
That he chawed

I hear words
I couldn’t decipher
in my youth.
Like yonder.

Seems far away,
but to him,
it was right there.

I hear his laughter—
As Thunderbolt and I,
frantically dash by
while he sat on the porch,
rocking in his recliner.

Only to learn later
that he’d said,
That girl is just as crazy
as her daddy on a horse!

My heart swells.
Tears fall—
the wind brushes them away.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash