Something you’ll never forget

You probably don’t remember your first house But you’re home, your culture, your people You’ll never forget them It is the foundation of your personality Like the roots of a tall tree. But my house I remember it like the back my hand I remember every nook and cranny How the stairs felt, how the walls felt, they were smooth And the stairs soft And how the paint chipping off me and my sisters Bunk bed and the ruff but still Fluffy rug. I remember all the food that was cooked in that very same Kitchen, how it lingered in the air like a friendly sake wanting to play. Downstairs was dark and scary as if it was a scary movie sene, And through the sliding door away from the dark was outside. The backyard air was crisp and cooling with a touch of winter and summer Then a couple years months days later. We left.