Lead Sled

Rocket Racer 8/20/2012

It is raining in my head
A cold heavy gray drizzle
Hitting the ground
Like bullets of ice.

You can smell the burning wood
And you can feel the warm carpet
On the floor in my parents’ house
Long ago and far away.

My boots are melting
In front of the heater
And my clothes are churning in the washer
As we sit at the dinner table
Eating potato soup.

My father stored my sled
In the rafters
And it was there
The day I left.

Slowly rusting
And rotting away
No doubt thrown away
Just like everything else.

My father built me a racer
And painted it with flames
Building my life
Day by day
And step by step.

Nothing remains the same
And nothing survives without loss
Even the strongest
Weaken and die.

But memory is perfect
And grows more and more beautiful
As perfect as snow in the morning
And her lips red with wine.

The patina of time
Adds value to the wood
And even the scars
Fade on m skin.

I am richer for the hardship
And stronger by the pain
Wise enough to appreciate
What is behind
And still enjoy
What lies ahead.