keys
If I, Perspective
by Tim Philippart

If I could remember,
the taste of mother’s milk,

the first time
rain misted my face,

the smell of
a baby only three days old,

when I saw my reflection
in my daughter’s eyes,

the first fingers
easing hair from my face.

If I could remember those things,
I would.

But, I’d settle,
to regularly, find my car keys.

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: “The Great Joy of a Key in the Hand,” Holland, Michigan (2016).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: How often, in my golden years, I tear around the house looking for my keys only to find them in my pocket, in the car that I forgot to turn off two hours ago, or, even, in my hand.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Tim Philippart sold his business, retired to explore, write and discover. He ghost blogs, writes poetry, nonfiction, and an occasional magazine piece. He loves writing and wishes he had not waited decades to pick up the pen. He sees baseball as a metaphor for…. Oh, he’s sorry.