Tomatoes
Tomatoes remind me of Grandpa
I ate my first tomato when I was five.
...I thought it was an apple
Imagine my surprise as I looked up at Grandpa,
His face scruching up into his half smile.
My disgust, as I looked down at my hand
But because Grandpa was eating one,
I forced myself to eat it too.
He had a line of plants growing against the brick wall by the shed.
He loved those tomatoes, though I never understood why
I remember them being huge,
Vines and leaves stretching towards the sun
SometimesI go back and look at the "Tomato Place"
These days it's nothing but a weed-covered patch.
But I remember.
I remember that for every weed,
A massive red tomato used to occupy its' space
And I think that that's the beautiful thing about memories.
Though the space is completely over-taken by time,
And the people have long ago vanished,
As long as one person remembers
Nothing is ever really gone