My skates, beloved, black leather and blue wheels.
The ones I was wearing when a butterfly landed on my arm and stared straight back at me.
Free, free, free.
The sticks we used to rescue from the forest,
the bubbles that held fairies who were traveling home. We tried not to pop them.
The fireflies that would flicker in the late evening. One time we caught one.
The smell of home cooked soul food.
The sweet taste of the cinnamon carrots my Papa would cook every Sunday evening.
My Granny, soft to the touch. She gives the best hugs. I was her silly goose.
The books she wrote for my siblings and I.
The bedtime stories about Yip Yap (me) and the Gruffalo (my sister).
The crib that my brother fell out of and fractured his wrist.
We cried all night because we thought he would never get better.
The steps I fell on when trying to help with groceries, taking too many bags than I could actually handle.
The scar that was left on my knee from the fall.
The twin beds my sister and I slept on.
There were tiny little bear designs on the headboard.
The tv set that was placed so high, we had to crane our necks to watch it at night.
The bunk beds we shared.
I was the oldest, so I got to sleep on top.
The Barbie dolls that lay at the end of my bed.
I come back every summer.
The memories hit me as soon as I step outside of my mom’s car.