• Poetry

    Block Party: Letters from my childhood .v1

    I remember waking up early on those Saturday mornings.
    I would run downstairs and poke my head out the front door.
    The street cleaner had just passed by.
    I could smell the clean dirty street.
    It was a smell unique to those Saturdays.

    I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.
    I don’t know how
    But when my eyes reopened I would be on top of the porch,
    Close to the edge of the steps.

    The block was always so still.
    The myriad of cars that usually populate the curbs were absent.
    The sight was almost euphoric.
    Like looking at a clean canvas or
    A blank piece of paper,
    Imagining all the great things to fill it up with.

    The birds chirped high in the trees.
    A huge smile would spread across my face.
    Today was our annual block party.
    Something I looked forward to every year.

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