I am the ghost of my child-self
why do I mourn for the boy that I am not anymore,
trace the steps of running up the stairs,
remember the warmth of lost smiles.
mom, who made the brownies I can still smell from my room,
will not use that stove anymore,
yet dad will still try that same recipe, those same cupboards.
I still look for that kindred glow
but my blank wandering can only remember.