Stats for this track
Dedicated to my father's parents.
(See also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peeler_Bluff)
When your 10 trillion cells finished their work
there were still many candies unfound in your home.
My boyish mind still gapes at every detail that presents
itself in sunlight and in slumber, as it often would
in your den amidst curiosities from lands far
more intricate than the one in your windowsill.
I remember fried chicken coleslaw potatoes and green
beans; wooden chairs and explanations of the
information I was so eager to share; pictures of the
past that somehow wrought the very existence of
the room and the bodies within it; cold nights and
strange sleep on couches and beds not my own.
Like the plants on your porch, you tended to us
and marveled at our beauty while we basked in yours.
So much of me wanted to play the piano in that great
hall so that you could be proud of me in person;
I still am terribly proud of the man who was yours
but to me may always be a mystery unlearned.
I always treasured visits to your home because they
mitigated the stress of a Sunday afternoon in my own.
All of the winding up for the week was transformed
into winding down (no more waiting out).
Could I pry the secrets yet? Could I circumvent the
silence that my stern words might ultimately beget?