Remembering (Kitchen Smells And Sunday Church Bells)

kitchen smells and Sunday church bells and
hula-hoops orbiting waists, knees, arms,
while ankle bracelets
jingle in place giving all the air tiny songs;
backyard jungles,
shingles being peeled away by the hollering
lake wind, gulping up the stars.
Remembering chocolate bars and sweet
midnight kisses in the backseat,
cargo pants and stumbling first meets,
all the hankering feeling eating stomach linings
and nibbling on lungs,
pumping hearts fast and sending legs springing;
hands ringing, toes writhing in dew grass
and lips smelting lovers into
heavy metal road trips, riding along the Big Sky Country
and the dancing, the fencing of fingers,
the nuzzling of flowers behind ears and
interlocking years, flourishing in the moon and
withering in the winter. Remembering
sinners, devil worship and prying teeny hands
from must-haves,
crinkling papers and dairies burned up on the
barbeque like pork chops,
breath stops and angry walks and waking up
to find roses covering the front porch;
making music, scorching blacktops,
soles burning in the run while
all the black birds fly up like ebon wildfire,
racing towards the sun.
Remembering you,
is always the best part.

© Copyright A. Marie Kaluza 2015

This poem is featured in The Red Robe – purchase it online today for only $4.99

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