Spongy, white clouds covered the sky
And I throttled a sigh.
A gusty wind raced towards me in helter- skelter haste
Flirting with the yellow, dried stubble
In languid buoyance.
On the park bench I sat, intrigued.
The sun was giving me the cold shoulder
Shriveled leaves swirled in my heart
There was autumn there .
A mélange of memories resurrected and ricocheted
And came my way, some bright, some trite.
A forlorn kite hanging high up a tree
Suddenly started swaying to the notes of the breeze.
In these notes, I heard some long forgotten notes.
Hush, meticulous about punctuation, was my dad
But harassed by my antics, ah so evil, so bad.
Memory shards, hiding in crannies and crevices resurfaced .
Was that bondage of whacks and kisses
Nothing but a rich use of language
On life’s ephemeral stage?
Now fallen victim to a Tarantino bloodbath?
Oh daddy, never understood that poem of Sylvia Plath
And its violent imagery.
I was a nincompoop, you see.
Your favorite word for me
That I still am and will be
Till memories remain part of me.