My life starts
the day after Christmas
in those turbulent years
during the Vietnam conflict
after man landed on the moon
in the house my mom and dad owned
out past the edge of town.

It was then I entered
the lives of those I would grow up with,
cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents.

Memories jumble, blend with every day,
glimpses like photographs,
sometimes moving, sometimes still.

Honeysuckle thick along the back fence,
chasing my dachshund Fonzie.
Sharing a room with my sister, 
epic fights on that pink shag carpet. 
Babysitting my little brother. 
Driving home from school  
after a freak April snow  
the day before Spring Break. 
Dad’s pipe and cherry tobacco, Mom’s hash 
made with leftover roast, hot tea after supper, 
ice skating on the lake at Grandma and Grandpa’s.   
Rain-soaked sleeping bags, roasting marshmallows, 
and family gatherings for graduations, christenings, and holidays. 

Some of them are gone now. Those who shaped my life, 
living only in my thoughts, my heart. 
Wisps of cells, interlocking us in heritage,  
life forced forward by time, 
held hostage to aging. 

Carrying all of us over to the next phase –  
that unknown place we long to visit. 
Just not tomorrow.