Relics

Like amber from aeons past

Held in the hands of family and friends

Turning gold.

These small sentinels stand guard over

Places been and dreamed of

As the roads flew by like ribbon

Windows cranked to let in

Air and light of other days.

Small guardians keeping close

Summer vacations

Rockaway beach and transistor radios.

Piano lessons.

And rainy October afternoons with Kathy and Rose.

A car not fit to show

But for tiny bones like these.

Relics.

In the dusty, floating stillness

Of memory.