Letting Go

Many things have changed since those days;
The days of wandering around half naked
In the irrigation water across the lawn;
The days of fresh cut grass
And the sound of dad mowing the lawn;
The days of raspberries and jam;
The days of climbing cottonwood trees;
The days of swings hanging from trees by yellow rope;
The days of perfectly lemonade skies
Of rose dusted mountains;
The days when lilac grew
On the fence to the west;
And where southern rock sweetly crept
Out of the doors and windows of the living room.
Those things seize to exist
Except for vivid memories
That cradle my existence in warm palms.

Understanding that change
Is a natural course of life,
Has been harder than doing just so.
It’s letting go of naps in hammocks,
Beautiful balcony views of my world,
Peacocks yelping in the distance,
Fuzzy pink carpet between my toes,
A black dog who was always skin and bones.

It is letting go of balloons docking themselves on the green lawn,
Grizzly beards from daddy,
Handprints in wet cement,
Softball games and raspberry daiquiris,
Camping on the lawn with neighborhood kids,
Blue slides and turtle sand boxes,
Dinner at a round dining room table,
The sounds of dogs barking,
Brick floors, and brown couches.
Sometimes letting go of something passed
Is harder than letting go of an era;
It’s letting go of the ingredients that have created you.