The Little Things

it’s the little things.

lost moments in time—

it’s the clovers on Grandma’s street

not yet sundried by the blistering heat

gently parted in search of coy

four leaf never found

elusive and free

dandelions instead

leaving sweet child hands

coated in wishes before

the wind stole them for it knew

better where they should go

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it’s the orange melted popsicle sunset

that heralded the coming

of anglerfish porch light

that beckoned everyone home

before nightfall

but if you were late you would catch

the fireflies now going extinct

guiding the way like a runway strip

for kids flying frantically across asphalt

with the hopes of making

it in time for supper

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it’s the murmurs of sleepy words

into mother’s skin

heartbeats echoing one another

in a never-ending feedback loop

the moment the hug began

and ended with sweet sleep

and kaleidoscope dreams

of mosaic possibilities of futures

unseen and remnants of the day dissolved

in incoherent sweet summer chatter

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it’s the little things

moments reclaimed in time

it’s the magnolia tree where we rest

in the vacant lot Grandma's house once stood

reunion having brought us all back

though she was now long gone

and while the sun never did shine as bright

as when childhood swaddled us

there was no greater comfort

than being welcomed back

to a Home thought lost even if it

was just to visit with the memories

that had steeped into the ground like

clover tea.