Growing – AO Poetry

Childhood

It's funny what insignificant details stick out from my childhood. 

I can remember the neighbor kid's laugh, 
the entirety of a book minus the title, and the foul flavor of the Flintstones vitamins that were force fed to me.

Yet the details I want to remember have been lost throughout the years.

I can no longer recall the exact model of my parent's gray car, when I lost my slightly yellow front tooth, or the address of the blue house that I spent my first years in. 

It seems that I have lost those details. 

It seems that I have forgotten everything except what I had expected to forget.

July 8, 2025 by Ash Ochoa Poetry Categories: My PoetryTags: Aging, Childhood, Flintstones, Forget, Growing, life, Me, Memories, Poetry 1 Comment

The Hedge

It's getting harder to notice where you hit the hedge with your car. 

It took a few years, but it's branches are beginning to burst and bloom. 
It's sharp pine needles finally flourishing and filling in the gaps that your hood had left. 

Now even the scarred foliage seems to be smirking at what you did. 

It's triumph much more than just another act of nature.