hoo hallow part 1

i miss the way our pillows and sheets smelled in the summertime
kind of musty from drying them on the line
a little woody and smoky
leftover from the previous night's backyard fire
like the breeze flowing through all the open windows
and the scent of the maple outside our big white painted window
with chipping paint around the edges

i ache for the summertime in a deep way
even though today the sun warmed my face
and made my palms sweaty
as i drove with our baby asleep in the backseat

and i cannot feel anything about summer
without entering the closed doors
that keep safe the memories of
our first house

i've forgotten the bonfires
the kitchen smells -- bacon, rotting compost, toaster oven, coffee
the dusty feet bottoms
the nights i slept alone in my own bedroom
at our first house

i've forgotten the endless laundry piles
the warm cobblestone
the glass in the church parking lot on the corner
the mornings and evenings spent in the garden nearby
the secret handholds and kisses shared on walks
the day i spoke the first words
about baby catalpa

i've forgotten the chaos
the loneliness
but not the anger

i forget it all
until i mourn
just a little bit