The Place I Belong.
by Michael L. Craver
The mythical yellow oven,
Origin of the flavors resurrected for holidays,
A sanctuary with the hospitality we strive to embody
Out of school, but on the farm,
Getting a Master Class for a sick day,
Counting the new houses during our Sunday drive
Few times had I ever seen him shed a tear,
Sitting in the orange chair, shaking his fist toward the television,
Maya Angelou was speaking before the man from Arkansas was sworn,
Bic pen resting on the crossword,
Overalls rise and fall with the rhythm of each snore,
She’s rubbing black socks in her lap,
Hearing the whispered joke,
A subconscious hand raises to cover-
Where a legendary cackle is rocking her recliner,
Sweet wisdom shared through story,
Narration brings Bill’s photo albums to life,
Now absent are the questions of why or where…
Living history points on a mountain top,
Wheat bread shiny with the crumbles of a broken wheel,
Experiencing a High Rock on a pontoon,
Transcending a Rocky Mountain High from a recliner,
Sitting next to the loud speaker behind the backstop,
Rubbing the back of sore legs from the ghost of yardstick past…
Separating rookies from veterans under a shady tree,
To swing or disregard nature’s friends as we shuck the afternoon away,
Unsung initiations about patience and virtue,
Children who believed they shared her super powers,
Answering life’s most important questions,
Can a tricycle truly tow an automobile…
A memory once whole, now on separate journeys,
Lore is the spiritual transfer of wisdom from one soul to another,
Peace of mind, as we always remember those who could never forget us
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Even the folks in Munich know her favorite songs:
