“Like Time Travel”

Upon stumbling across photographs in an unmarked box, I
recall the instant when these
extraordinary moments were attained.
Memoirs of birthdays, Thanksgivings, Christmas’,
and summer cookouts convey the aromas and tang of the
daylight back into my mentality,
and ultimately, back to my train of thought.

I found myself warped back to the
occasion of the particular snapshot,
hearing the clamor and pleasure around me once again.
My family running amok, bombarding one another
with anything that could be used as a projectile
weapon and the mothers and fathers
endeavoring great lengths to impede the madness,
albeit unsuccessful and stressed.
The family elder assembling with the parents who
aren’t eager for an act of God to calm the children down,
chatting about anything that appears to mind while
smoke is swiftly parting his lit cigarette.

I evoke huge feasts consisting of bickering and taunting,
which I now perceive as tedious and dense,
but at the same time, I miss it.
The way my younger relatives and I would snicker and slur our
parents behind their backs still brings a smile to my face,
despite the act being juvenile and erroneous.

I recollect us releasing offerings like wild dogs,
shredding the paper until there was nothing left but
diminutive leftovers laying on the floor.
The elation we experienced when we acquired that latest
video game, or up-to-the-minute compact disc,
or in my circumstance, new equipment for my guitar.
The ecstasy sensed when we began to exploit our
beloved grant always counteracted the annoyance
suffered when we had to clean the colossal sums of wrapping paper
that had been strewn on the ground.

I can distinguish the shadows of my precedent animate
from the contentment these relics of remembrance award me.
My memories of delight and youth that had formerly
escaped my brain, but have since returned,
convey a sensation of bliss I
cherish more than I did before.


About Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?
This entry was posted in Springtime In Atlantis and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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