Monday, July 12, 2010

Remember Me Home

Remember me Home

These hills are made of magic.

They spread their rolling greenness

into the corners of your heart

like the tentacles of Kudzu.
Twining with the memories of my youth

they etch themselves into the mind’s retina.
The lone tree above
a pile of rocks

in the middle of a sloping
cow pasture,
my great-grandmother's house

the cherry tree out front

the mound of earth

covering her carved out pantry

where we used to play king of the hill
the ball field

where I slid into home plate.

I see them now
from the driver's seat
of my little red Nissan
pecking along these winding country roads
but my heart sees them
from the back of dad's

his words reminding us to search

the hills for the Indian the signs warned of

Watch for Fallen Rocks

the wind swirling my hair into tiny whips
that beat at my face

until it was numb

As I pull in Dad’s driveway

I realize

I have remembered me home.

Author: LeeAnn Patrick

LeeAnn writes: "My Name is LeeAnn Patrick I live with my husband, five children and one grandchild in King NC. Most of my poetry involves my family as dedication, subject or inspiration. After finding the market for teachers non-existent, I found a part-time spot at a retail store. My work has appeared in tinfoildresses and The Saint's Placenta."