I remember dirt, a taste of summer.
The smell of burning pig flesh.
The stench of my great uncles breath,
filtering through his beer drenched mustache
and running down his inflated stomach.

I remember laughter.

I remember the hallowed tree.
“Get your *** outta there” shouts a familiar stranger.
The anger I felt as I scratched my blistered skin
in the autumn breeze.

I remember poison oak.

I remember the smell of cinnamon
and spiked cider with Santa there on guard.
The snag of turning wheels on rug.
The chitter chatter of adults
as children pitter pattered around.

I remember Christmas.

I remember my tie was too tight.
“What a grownup you’ve become”
The smell of flowers and formaldehyde
loomed over forced smiles.

I remember leaving my family
in this showcase of the dead