Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Childhood Memories Make The Best Poetry

  Have you ever stopped and sat down to think about the things from the past? Good and bad? Maybe even the things that you have a deep nostalgia for? Maybe the quality toys you had as a child, the bands you listened to as a teenager, or maybe even the smell of your house every morning as your mother cooked breakfast.
  We all have something in the past that we long for, some reasonable and others unreasonable.
  My personal nostalgic item is something that I had always appreciated as a kid and have grown to love it as my own personal style of interior design- wood floors.
  Silly, right? Not to me.
  In the summer wood floors were the best thing on earth, they kept my family cool during the heat of the season. And how could I forget, in honor of "Risky Business" my little brother and I used to put on the softest socks we could and slide down the hallways! Of course too we had an evil prank that always had a slippery outcome. We use to spray pledge in the walkways when the other wasn't looking... Needless to say, it always ended with a bang and pictures rattling on the walls. (Kids and adults too- do not try that at home.)
  I spent ninety percent of my childhood playing and crying on wood floors. They are just really something you don't see that often anymore, at least not the real kind I played on. All of the wood floors now days are laminate or pressed wood.
  As I grew up my appreciation for them grew. One day while I was in my mother's house I got to thinking, what kind of story would this wood floor tell if it could talk? Being that these wood floors were around 65 years old, my imagination ran wild.
  So with a riddle in mind I wrote this:

"What I Am"
I'm nothing special
Just dusty and old
With fading colors of brown
I've laid here a century
You wouldn't believe my stories
If I wasn't stuck here in pieces
The things I could say
I've seen love lost
I've seen friendship gained
I know the pain of out-poured blood
I know the sweat and tears of a hardworking man
I've felt the care of a good house wife
I've spent my years yielding the laughter of children,
And the howling of dogs
I've been tromped upon,
And skittered across
I've watched weanlings sneak into cookie jars,
Men drink out of milk jugs,
And wives enjoy a quiet snack
I've felt the warmth of the sun,
And the wetness of the rain
I've been through fights and amends
I've been covered up and dug back up again
I make creaks and crackles,
But every stress in my grain was worth the waiting
The abusive nature of living
The rehabilitation of getting old
Pianos scooting across me,
Furniture scuffing my surface
I'm the only one in the world,
That enjoys being walked on
All for what?
Feeling the heat of a fire,
The disastrous winds of a tornado
Each a new dent,
A dent I wouldn't trade to shine
Walls built upon me
Rugs smothering me
Tile covering my best years
But it all ends up right back to me
The pies I've tasted,
And the sodas I've drank
I collect so many bunnies,
And expel half as many nails
I'm crazy in mind,
Dull in appearance,
Beautiful in soul
I'm the last of my kind
This old,
This pure,
There should be more of me
But the future is changing my ideas
What would I know?
I'm just an old tree,
Lying here as the floor.

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