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The Cellar of my Soul


Buried memories cram my household drawers,

the cellar of my soul – my legacy of photographs

and momentos. I see a picnic in sepia:  Mother opens

a wicker basket of pimento cheese sandwiches,

Father tosses a ball to my brother and sister,

Grandfather hand cranks ice cream, a five year

old picks wildflowers.


Prisoners of yesterday’s moments these drawers whisper

a life too happy to recall. Drawers shut so tight I arrive at a

crossroads where late, late in time part of myself is buried.

Too fearful to remember joyful times when family existed.


Tired farmers sit on wooden steps squinting in the sun.

Tobacco dries in barn and corn grows in rich farm soil.

I taste the succulent peaches growing in our grove.

My own life lies open between seasons to ponder clues:  

an old seed catalogue, pressed violets, remnants of a

monogramed handkerchief. An unfinished family

where now only the scent of cedar remains.


Drawers of yesterday’s life buried under a long ago dream.

These mementos locked away, like anniversary cake, too sweet to taste.

On a forgotten farm, under an oak tree the family graveyard is full.

From here nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.


Published:  Haunted Waters Press - From the Depths 

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