*In Loving Memory of Dorothy Smith & Russell Smith, My Grandparents*
Late at night and early in the morning is when I hear the memory...
That comforting, nostalgic whistle, long and eerie, anticipated.
A song pops into my overcrowded brain, Going back to Ohio, my family is gone....., those lyrics are what my needle of pain gets stuck on, the remainder is scratched, skip, skip
As a child I'd watch from the old tattered window as it passed,
Like a lullaby it calmed me into the slumber I'd succumb to at last
More than the sound fills my taunted mind with such melancholy thoughts, as my mind overflows with sorrow, gushing waterfalls of pictures from a time less woeful to my surmise.
I'd sit in that old chair, dark eyes on the black and white, with no brooding worries, innocent as most insouciant little ones are
It was my clock, click clanking at the same time right on schedule, yet those I met each day have departed, as that train had, leaving me with with a mere glimpse upon dreaming
Sitting on the back porch on that worn metal glider,
A wink, a familiar aroma so sweet,
A star filled sky of a beautiful day to follow, Oh how I long to return to such antiquated times, for a minute, an hour, one day!
Now I'm enveloped with the irony of the return of the reminder
Plagued with the distance from them and me, the deceased who are yearned for, as circumstance has delivered me.