The time it takes to my parents' is about 3 hours
and I'd listen to a long playlist on the drive back

each song is dated a year before the next & after
53 and a half songs have been played I am myself

again, I check the year & it is 1996, somehow
it feels the same, here where I'm more at home

where we would sit, on the hard linoleum floor
our largest table with yesterday's newspaper set

lacquer bowls & chopsticks join our shared meal
the walls will listen, quietly left a renter's white

they'd exchange the old lightbulbs for newer
ideas in dusted corners, where books are read

else light a modest size candle & call it a night
but dishes need to be handwashed, the only way

they'd have it, the plastic bags too numerous
to count from drawers so we don't use anything

for granted, the garden's given away fruits to birds
but return to us ripe melodies in the peak of season

from the worn glazed planters, the dog's longing
for the plush rya rug & the family's grandfather

clock etched with our last name, their thin hands
forever held close at 1 still rings from my memory.