Flickers of memories in my eyes
The smells, the sounds, the feels
Oh, if only I could bring them back for a minute, an hour, a day
My grandpa shouting "Get Outta My Chair!"
Sending us screaming
Being a father of young children and having the gym getaway
The pool and the hot tub restoring sanity
Being a father of young children and rocking them to sleep
Making my brain a garden
Feeling that little body relax
That's a poem in itself
The voices I'll never hear again but can't forget
The smell of lunch in the basement at Golda Meir
The ceiling shaking at the library there when basketballs bounced above
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