Writing Me is Bigger Picture Blogs series of writing exercises created to help our community dive deeper into writing, grow creatively, and learn about ourselves and each other. This quarter we are writing from the prompt “I Remember…” and each week we will feature one of our community members.
This week’s post comes to us from Hyacynth.
I remember him when my oldest cuts open his finger
while we’re driving down the interstate
and I pull out a bandage, wipe
from the emergency kit he put in my car
nine years ago when I drove to start my junior year of college.
I remember him when sunlight hits
my boys’ hair and the same coppery tones
highlight the dark locks they share.
I remember him when I catch a slight hint
of cigar smoke wafting through thick summer air during
nightly walks around our neighborhood with his grandkids.
And I remember him when I see the roof of the house
that was almost him peaking through the dancing leaves
of trees in our backyard.
I remember him when I least it expect it
when I’m in the middle of living life loudly
when his memory sneaks up on me
and startles me back to the realization
that all I really have left of my father
are genes expressed in little boys
an emergency kit lingering long after expiration date in my car
to which I cling tighter every time I realize he’s gone.
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