Sweet Memory
Around and around and around. She rode her bike/roller skates/horse/race car/ fast and hard. The exhilaration of the win was sublime. No matter that she was the only one in the race, or that the track was the suburban cement driveway in front of the cookie cutter 1950s California ranch-style home. There were few distractions to mar her dedication save one: that smell. Nearing 5 o’clock, it was always the lure that would end the game. Irresistible it was. The clink of ice cubes in the cocktail shaker, the call to the family pet that it was dinner time, the escaping music notes from the hi-fi, and the incredible aroma of onions, peppers, and garlic sizzling in the pan in preparation for something
sumptuous to come. It was of no importance what the actual dinner would be. It was the smell that always drew her inside. The smell and the promise of coziness and warmth and comfortable chatter. The love and the place and the knowledge of home.
Debby Mc
Posted over on her site Pieces...
Listed as #26 over on Magpie Tales 56
2 comments:
That could almost be the old neighborhood...
Oooo, I wanna live in the 50s! Well, not really.
Nice poem, tho. I like the cocktail shaker tho.
1972, I think!
xoxo
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