Sentimental Journey - Poem by Betty Bleen
Home again ... arising early I wander through
my parents house, searching for memories.
In the pantry are the small clear glasses,
handpainted with tulips. Instinctively I lift
one to my lips, almost tasting the Seven-Up
my grandfather used to pour, remembering
how the fizz tickled my nose, Grandpap's
laughter. I imagine him standing there,
wearing his felt hat and checkered flannel
shirt, puffing on his long stemmed pipe.
But too soon the image fades, as set in the
past as the tulips are in their glass prisons.
From a dusty shelf in the den I retrieve the
old Currier and Ives, copyrighted 1952.
Through its pages I'd traveled America,
journeying by steamboat down the Mississipi,
flat boating the Ohio, riding the rail to
California. Always enjoying my adventures,
always thirsting for more. Wistfully I close
the book, leaving its people and places to a
Photographs crowd the living room, each one
caressing a memory - my birth, birthdays,
school days, first date ... every event
cascading for eternity in wood and glass.
The floorboard creaks as my mother enters
the kitchen. I hasten to greet her, blinking
back the tears. Our eyes meet and we
smile, scattering the memories amongst a
million dreams, the air shimmering with the
essence of their beauty as they surrender,
each one to its designated place.
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