Chronicles of a Nigerian American

Autumn

Autumn

The scent of memories are in the air
As the wind whips and swoops around my hair
Spice scented steam ascends to my nostrils
as my hands are warmed
by a green madusa cup
My eyes glaze a bit
as I recall things from the depths of my mind
Autumn memories push to the front

In my memories
the breeze from the ocean of Suffolk Point
Gives me chills, making me zip up my sweater

In my memories
the view of the white picket house
on the dead grass near
the highway come into my view
and all is see is beauty

And before I know it
the wetness of my tears flow
to the corner of my mouth and all I taste is salt

A light salt
Used to season my memories
And grill them, until they're dry and burnt
But the burntness reminds me of
the crunch of the brown and orange leaves
And the tissue paper used to make
Leaves of art, when I once sat in
A room that smelled like paint
In a room that just outside the window
Was black concrete and jungle gym
And children playing tag and kicking a ball

The concrete reminds me of where I am now;
In the concrete jungle
Where trains zip past you
just as you make it to the door
Where a coconut icee is just a dollar
Where a green field is in the center of city mess
Where we all live on top of each other
and garbage piles at corners of the block
And light scents of memories can be smelled
But as soon as you get a whiff of it
It's gone

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A/N

This poem is sort of a look into my past when I used to live in Long Island and then my move to the city.

I'm not sure what to make of it yet, so Imma just let it sit here........

Let me know what you think.