SUMMER MEMORIES

The following short piece I like to think of as prose poetry.  Summer memories can be pleasant or sad, and sometimes a combination of both.  I tend to think the purpose of heartache is to make me appreciate the joys of life.

BEFORE

I remember the lonely that day I went to visit.

There was a melancholy sighing of the leaves in the sultry summer breeze.

Mom and Dad were lawn chaired in the meagre shade at the back of the house instead of under the trees down by the pool, avoiding happy memories long departed.

I saw the ride-on lawnmower abandoned in the heat with only half of three acres cut.

I looked at the pool, the aquamarine water I remembered now tainted a dirty green by the algae left to contaminate.  The pool was blockaded by a wire gauge fence and a locked gate.  Fun and frolic prohibited.

Memories of the years before assailed me.

Relatives arriving with trailers and campers to spend summer weekends, the pool the center of the action.  Aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, swimsuits, towels, beach balls, floating chairs, flippers, snorkels, an umbrella swing, chaise lounges, webbed lawn chairs, hats, thongs, sunburns, freckles, barbecues, salads, paper plates, cheezies, pretzels, pop and beer.  Shrieks and laughter.  Laughter.  Laughter.  Laughter.

I heard the echoes fading as I stared at the green murk.

And I remembered the way things used to be, before my youngest brother died.

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By Lisa A. Hattonnd I remembered the way things used to be, before my youngest brother died.heezies, pretzels, pop and beer.  Shrieks and laught