Memory

There was the shirtless picture she showed me one day. A charm, hidden keepsake. Something to hold on to. Another innocent trip to the freezer. Pictured door. The square bottle frozen, guilty touch. Cold drink, hard and sweet. A flutter. Sweeping skirt. A blur, a tease, raising spirits. Naked bouncing on wooden floors. The washer holding clothes. Backdoor, torn screen. Down concrete steps. Strawberries and creosote, an effort. Hewn logs shinning in the sun, oozing, holding fruit. A gamble. Yes, no. Open clothespins, no spring, old style. Lazy line under the big oak. Heavy basket, full. Waiting. Grass forever, a country sized lot. Splashing water. Bedtime story. Remembered, not read. Nothing written. Grasping sheets. Dawn reflection. Quick. Closed door, now open. Tiny feet. Morning cups warmed with water. Cream. Faint pain. Tires on gravel. Pacing father looking down. Newspaper wall, but how long? Children running, fighting. Not now. Needing attention. Whose turn? Occupied thoughts. White paper holding treasure, a gift. Bounty from elsewhere. The game begun. Rubber band on the wrist. Fighting habits. This would go on forever.