Core memories in the making

What more is left to say between us
that hasn’t already been said
by the torrid summers in which we made hay and then climbed atop the haystacks,
our laughter blending with
the chirping of the locusts,
the sweet smell of dry grass,
and the murmur of the nearby spring
carrying unforgettable memories down a stream of nostalgia.
Core memories in the making.

What more is left to say between us
that hasn’t already been said
by the hot summer days when we washed carpets in the yard,
carefree laughter and chitter-chatter blending with
the feeling of blissful togetherness,
the scorching concrete burning our soles,
the homemade soap under our nails,
and the invigorating cold water splashing from the garden hose,
carrying lasting memories down a stream of soap foam and nostalgia.
Core memories in the making.

What more is left to say between us
that hasn’t already been said
by the sweltering August days when we shelled peas and beans,
one heavy sack after another,
our mirthful laughter blending with
the gentle breeze as we sat under the grapevine,
the dirt under our nails,
and the green stains on our fingertips unable to be washed off for the next couple of days,
the tap water carrying deeply ingrained memories down a stream of dirt, soap foam and nostalgia.
Core memories in the making.

What more is left to say between us
that hasn’t already been said?
Words are superfluous
in the face of shared laughter
in the midst of the welcome humdrum,
For we’ve learned long ago
that our lives are defined by the little things
seeping in our veins through the cracks between our fingernails and our skin,
latching onto our aortas,
making their way up to our hippocampi.
Core memories in the making.

– Patricia