SACRED TO ME

My parents lived in an old house,

filled with cats, dogs, children,

memories of relatives,

worn tattered furniture.

It didn’t take much to evoke the past,

Pull up the shadowy images of

children who climbed trees,

Played kick the can together

Times that went by too fast.

Those memories are sacred,

Often I dredge them up

and clean them until they shine.

They may not mean anything to others

But they are sacred to me,

And they will always be.