Dreamland
Dark wood floor
Old Persian rug
Someone there
I want to be back there in the future: dream land. I didn’t know it would be the last time. I hope it isn’t.
When I was a girl I thought I’d have my wedding reception at my Grandpa’s house. It would be a perfect backyard Summer wedding. I came up with it sat on the Spanish tile porch under dry wood holding blooming lilacs. Grandpa John and I would sit there on rubber lawn chairs and we’d talk, about what I don’t remember. I remember the heat and the smell of the flowers and the sound of the bees.
What I miss about being a kid is the Summer. Visiting there always felt like Summer.
My Grandpa died at age 90, and his house has been sold. It hurts but I’m trying to accept this as the cycle of things. I miss him and our memories there desperately. In the Summer I can close my eyes and I’m almost back there on the porch, close enough to grab the same feeling. One day I will have a nice house and a son named John and we will sit on the porch and talk. I can hardly wait.