Saturday Mornings
Let the memories stay with you
Poetry
Let the memories stay with you
The first sip of hot coffee waiting to enter my veins.
My children are asleep in their beds, curled up with stuffed animals and iPads.
Yes, it’s 2023.
The quiet is only broken by the sound of dog nails running to tell me hello against the hard wooden floor of my living room.
Playing half-awake games like, “Is that a tangled ball of dog hair or a large water bug?”
My wife, half-naked, skin smooth and cool, snores heavily.
Shutting the bedroom door.
The illumination of the loft by three LCD screens turning on in unison.
A box fan slows down until it joins the silent room.
Owls in the tree nearby hoot and call to each other.
The warm, humid air blows gently.
Train whistles in the distance by the gas station.
Dirty dishes in the sink I was too tired to clean.
The week’s laundry stacked outside the washing machine.
Socks and shoes around the couch.
Blankets drug down stairs by kids who don’t fold anything — ever.
Hannah Montana on the living room TV for three hours.
Fortnight on the computer upstairs.
Music through headphones in bedrooms.
Records spinning as noon approaches.
Cleaning the living spaces
listening to insufferable winning.
Homemade grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup.
Sitting on the couch with my family and dogs.
Afternoon arrives.
American, father, husband, writer, poet, community organizer. If you’d like to help support me, please consider donating to my organization.