With Change

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when gathering
for granddad’s funeral
no one’s vehicle tires turned into the yard similarly.
even gravel sounded different as folks drove in and chose a place to park.
the earth where his brown Ford pickup had been parked for nearly 70 years
– until Uncle drove it away –
had grass growing again,
but had for nearly fifteen years, I suppose.
I wonder if I’m the only one
who noticed. I never asked.

Lifetime

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a lifetime
thinking it over
all the joys
the sadness
imprinting generations
building our strength

3/5/3/3/7/5 Shadorma Poetry

***

Nothing like a box Chevy (during a rebuild), booze, old country music and big brother’s barn on a Friday night. Baby, Middle and Red claiming seats as big brother chuckles. None of us would have it any other way. I love when we get together and laugh over ourselves.

Everyone’s version of our story is a little different, but oh we four see it the same… I love’em!