To be Young

Nostalgia, 

wrapping tightly around the heart and the brain, 

never to loosen its grip. 

It’s too late. You're getting too old. 

Days seemed to grow colder, and grayer. 

Going through the motions, 

the days became an automatic schedule, 

repeating itself inevitably. 

The one thing you wanted 

was to go get off the bus on the top of your street, 

meet your mother on the side of the road, 

and venture home with her, 

right to your spot on the couch. 

Tonight's episode of Dancing With the Stars queued on the television, and your dads fried rice on the skillet, 

the green onion scent sending tingles through your nose. 

You were young, and warm. 

And your biggest worry was if you wanted to use my small clover shaped spoon or a big girl spoon for dinner.