Do believe a place can call out your name?

Roots.

Having bon fires, roasting marsh mellows with him.

Spending endless days playing make believe in the creek out back, us youngsters with such vast imaginations.

The taste of bagels, cream cheese, and orange juice in the morning will always take me back there.

The clinking of dishes around the Thanksgiving table.

The rare privilege of watching cable. A basket of knitting beside the couch.

Taking baths, the smell of Dial soap—the yellow bar kind, the spray shower head that he told me never to touch… And when I was older, years and years older, old enough to use it—I still didn’t, I stood firm in his request.

Watching the Macy’s day parade while she cooked in the kitchen. Flipping back and forth channels to get different views of the parade.

The deep freeze and the frozen “nutty buddies.”

The yellow ash tray.

And that big magnolia.

I never really cried when you left, but I am crying now my love.