FicWad

Certain things bring places back
Sometimes I catch a whiff of home
One the wind or in the rain
And I'm home again

The cold tile on my bare feet
I run down the bumpy roads
My flip-flops making their distinct sound
The red dirt bursting up in clouds

Taxies ahead of us, loaded high
The same cassette playing, over and over
Humidity, heat, and fresh market bread
Seeing familiar landmarks with relief

The cracked ground in the dry scene
The rainy season's immense storms
And then I'm gone

And left to wonder what could have been
If my old home was my current one
And I lived in the place
I now only see in memories