I remember…

I remember
coming down the stairs on cold winter mornings
a steaming pot of hot chocolate on the stove
piles of toast on the table

I remember…
stepping off the bus into waist deep snow
king of the mountain on drifts looming over my head
sliding down the hill in back of the house

I remember…
coughing in the night, feverish sweats
doctoring at bedside with thick syrup and cold cloths
cherry will forever taste like menthol to me

I remember…
the other times too
anger andĀ sadness-part of every life
some more than others



10 comments on “Octpowrimo

  1. Shah Wharton says:

    Some more than others indeed! That sounds like one helluva cold!



  2. “cherry will forever taste like menthol to me”..oops! well-penned..:)


  3. psychochef says:

    You painted these images perfectly. I can smell the hot cocoa simmering on the stove. I can feel myself sinking into the snow. I can taste the menthol-cherry of sickness.



  4. Shamu Boo says:

    …and some less I suppose. Reading your poetry is like watching Chuck Norris beat up bad guys, pure Nirvana! (not the cheesy band one, that other one, I am not really sure what it is, but people talk about it nicely, oh, you know the one, maybe I should Google it, no, already too long a comment, so, then, yes, Nirvana it is)


  5. Zoe Byrd says:

    thanks for the read, Shah.


  6. Zoe Byrd says:

    ick… hate the stuff!


  7. Zoe Byrd says:

    Some day you will make a find little Buddhist, grasshopper.



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