WW Fenn Ramble
Nate Winneg: When an Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object

My Memory: Mike Demsher

Every yesterday leans against each other.
The days flow together into a pool of memories,
That mix together until they are a mess of images and feelings,
And I am losing them constantly.
But some stay together, different from the rest.
I sit here in my finished wood seat.
The dark legs curve down with smooth grace. 
I think back to my years prior,
And I see myself sitting in a very different chair.
I feel the rough cloth covering the firm cushion,
Of the worn-down, canvas colored chair in my living room.
I smell my dad's spicy jambalaya,
And I hear it bubble on the gas stovetop,
Burning with a bright blue flame.
I look deeply into the television, 
As I spend my time injuring eternity. 
My father yells, "Come and eat."
I sprint, for my stomach is roaring like a hound.
I scoop out a bowl of the chunky rice and meat,
And I walk quickly back to my seat.
The aroma of the spicy heaven sprints through my nose,
And sends a felling through my body warmer than the bowl.
I remember that night, and so many nights like it.
I can picture the jambalaya a blue ceramic bowl.
Every yesterday leans against each other,
But there are some memories that stand on their own.

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