The Dust That Has Settled

-Shamae Budd, 2/1/11

Most days, it is the now.

It is the monotonous in and out.

But, there are days.

When I remember.

Days when the smell

Of old, green carpet

Whispers somewhere in my mind,

And I remember.

Days when the dust that

Has settled there

Is disturbed, for a moment,

And I remember.

Slowly, at first. A passing glance,

A glimpse into what

Has already been.

And, I remember,

Tangerines. Swingsets.

His soft, throaty laugh.

And the way the skin of his neck

Wobbled,

Back,

And forth...

I remember.