I remember the place in the grass where we used to go when we were kids, strawberry picnics in the trees would leave me sticky, mama would block out the sun with her canopy yet still, glimpses of light could be seen through her spectrum.
I remember the place in the grass because it is where we would run to in a thunderstorm, and huddle under mama’s umbrella of leaves until the rain stopped.
I remember the place in the grass where we would nap under the trees, and wish for the stars to come out so we could stay a while into the night.
I remember the place in the grass where you told me I was beautiful, we told of our love, and spoke of our dreams. This was the place where we grew up and learned of the world.
The place in the grass is not what it was, it has died with the seasons mama has gone away, only for a little while but “He†will not return.
I will return to the place in the grass when mama returns with her canopy. But a home is a broken home when things change, I may return to hear a song but it will never be the same
