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Open up a bag of
Red Rope Licorice
and suddenly I& #39;m
eight-years old again.
It& #39;s 1982.
I& #39;m standing in
the middle of
our families old drug store.
The waxy floors
that are only cleaned
every six weeks.
Red Rope Licorice
and suddenly I& #39;m
eight-years old again.
It& #39;s 1982.
I& #39;m standing in
the middle of
our families old drug store.
The waxy floors
that are only cleaned
every six weeks.
The humming lights
that never quite illuminate
the far corners of our long rectangle shop.
The overfilled bins of kite string
and rows of Russell Stovers chocolate.
The discount birthstone jewelry counter
the smell of raw film
coming from the camera department.
It’s all there.
that never quite illuminate
the far corners of our long rectangle shop.
The overfilled bins of kite string
and rows of Russell Stovers chocolate.
The discount birthstone jewelry counter
the smell of raw film
coming from the camera department.
It’s all there.
I& #39;m back.
Really.
This isn& #39;t a dream.
I can feel the bag of licorice
against my hairless arms.
I swear it.
I’ve fallen through a confectionery
wormhole to my past.
Please believe me.
I can see my dad
behind the pharmacy counter.
Smiling.
Always smiling.
Really.
This isn& #39;t a dream.
I can feel the bag of licorice
against my hairless arms.
I swear it.
I’ve fallen through a confectionery
wormhole to my past.
Please believe me.
I can see my dad
behind the pharmacy counter.
Smiling.
Always smiling.
Handing a towering red-haired man
a tiny bottle of eggshell pills.
I don& #39;t know what a pharmacist does. Folks bring in slips of paper with the worst cursive writing you will ever see and give them to my dad so he can transform them into amber colored vials filled with remedy.
a tiny bottle of eggshell pills.
I don& #39;t know what a pharmacist does. Folks bring in slips of paper with the worst cursive writing you will ever see and give them to my dad so he can transform them into amber colored vials filled with remedy.
He is a magician.
The red-haired man leaves and
my dad raises his hand to his mouth and
takes a slow drag from his cigarette.
A cigarette that he
got from our store.
A store that had much
tobacco In stock
as we did any medicine
that fought the disease
that came with it.
The red-haired man leaves and
my dad raises his hand to his mouth and
takes a slow drag from his cigarette.
A cigarette that he
got from our store.
A store that had much
tobacco In stock
as we did any medicine
that fought the disease
that came with it.
Our store trafficked in both
the disease and the cure.
My dad, now with
a fresh haze of billowing
smoke that in 15 years would
turn into cancer billowing around him
finds me with his eyes.
I am sixty feet away.
I am 35-years away.
the disease and the cure.
My dad, now with
a fresh haze of billowing
smoke that in 15 years would
turn into cancer billowing around him
finds me with his eyes.
I am sixty feet away.
I am 35-years away.
But
I am caught in his gaze
like a fish on a line.
My dad smiles at me.
I am complete.
I live for his smile.
He is my smiling smoking hero
in a lab coat.
He begins to fade
into the smoke.
The store is disappearing below and above me.
I am traveling back.
I am caught in his gaze
like a fish on a line.
My dad smiles at me.
I am complete.
I live for his smile.
He is my smiling smoking hero
in a lab coat.
He begins to fade
into the smoke.
The store is disappearing below and above me.
I am traveling back.
Before he is obscured by time
and I& #39;m returned back to
my uncomfortable adulthood,
I smile at my dad one last time
As he does at me.
As he does at me.
As he does at me.
We are now shadows to one another.
I take to my Red Ropes.
My dad takes to his smoking.
and I& #39;m returned back to
my uncomfortable adulthood,
I smile at my dad one last time
As he does at me.
As he does at me.
As he does at me.
We are now shadows to one another.
I take to my Red Ropes.
My dad takes to his smoking.
We melt away from each other.
I& #39;m back.
The vision is over.
But my lips still taste like candy.
And my tears smell just like sugar.
And my shirt smells like my dad’s smoke.
And my smile is frozen to my face:
I& #39;m back.
The vision is over.
But my lips still taste like candy.
And my tears smell just like sugar.
And my shirt smells like my dad’s smoke.
And my smile is frozen to my face:
You see,
every time I eat red licorice
I fall backward through the calendar
and back under the leaky roof of my
family’s once proud store.
And every single time I time travel
on the wave of crimson delicious sweetness
I am reminded that death
can& #39;t
kill our memories.
every time I eat red licorice
I fall backward through the calendar
and back under the leaky roof of my
family’s once proud store.
And every single time I time travel
on the wave of crimson delicious sweetness
I am reminded that death
can& #39;t
kill our memories.
So, that must
make it powerless.
make it powerless.
