Fool's Gold
Weekly Scribblings #68 Prompt: "So I’d love you to think about places which are special to you for any reason, and bring them to life for us in whatever way you choose, in poetry or prose. " I believe you, Mr. Wolfe, “ You can’t go home again .” Why would I ever try? Places don’t stay put any more than people do. They stray, as restless to leave town as anyone there. Memory fools. We were swimming pools and hot asphalt, stuck in amber summers, tar melting in the cracks of the Avenue, scorching bare feet. We were football games and dry leaves burning in gutters, stolen kisses under the bleachers, blushing. We were laugh-filled hallways and crushes, caught in frozen-moment snow globes. Glistening. Glittering. But… all that glittered was never gold. As I said, Memory fools. ©2021 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved