Gardens

And that’s how I choose to remember it.

~Rilo Kiley



I don’t remember why I picture my grandparents’ backyard, the way I do.

There were tall rows of corn. His garden was beautiful.

Even as a kid I related more to my tiny, before-her-time grandmother who chain smoked while my grandfather was at work, more than the marathon-running Marine who chided her for the smoking.

While he grew corn. And onions. And is the reason I’m obsessed with seeds, despite being terrible at gardening.

Indoors was where they introduced me to records. Specifically, the Grease soundtrack. Then Broadway Annie.

I don’t remember where that record player was. Just the smoking confessions inside and proud gardens outside that looked and felt endless and gray under Long Island skies, while smelling like life itself.

And I miss them.



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