color of lead, color of slate,
ivy and morning glories creeping over the walls.
Sound of summer thunder growling imperiously over junipers,
sound of an evergreen played deftly on a concertina,
sound of whispers between youngsters yellowed by the dandelion butter test,
united by intrepidity and trust.
Aroma of lilies revving up the vividness of gardens,
aroma of popcorn during the 10:00 pm horror show,
aroma of rain ripping apart the sultry air.
Taste of maple nut ice cream,
taste of lilac nectar sucked out of blossoms,
taste of pretty pursed lips behind bee-infested bushes.
We are scattered,
a diaspora of grown-ups.
The house has crumbled.
And still, over the expanse of distance and time,
I find myself in my dreams,
banging frantically at its door,
begging to be let back in.
Adrian Slonaker lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, USA, working as a copywriter and copy editor, with interests that include vegetarian cooking, Slavic languages, Victorian horror fiction, wrestling, and 1960s pop music. Adrian’s work has appeared in Better Than Starbucks, cc&d, and Dodging the Rain, and publication in Ginosko Literary Journal is forthcoming.