Last week, at Norman Galaxy of Writers, my friend, and author, William Bernhardt, led us in poetry writing. About a memory. This is what I wrote. A memory from my childhood that answered a lot of questions for me. Thanks, Bill.
Red painted wood siding.
Prickly Leaf Bush.
Hose coiled up behind it.
Magnolia tree that only blooms once
a year in front of me.
Writing stories of what my life would be.
Sheets of loose leaf lined paper spread
out before me.
Illustrating every page.
The concrete pebbles imprint on the paper.
The smell of grass.
The sound of cars.
The feint smell of oil on the storm door hinges.
The magnolia tree is blooming.
Nothing is without reason.