Irons

My fingers drum the keys, at a familiar pace
But long overdue
The reflections of my mind pieced together as whispers of emotion in fragmented sentences,
Phrases of love, longing and fleeting time
How the scent of lilacs blooms, on runs in neon shoes
Remind me Mawna's cooking, and Grandpa's weathered hands

Of home
And youth,
And soy beans,
And brothers
And time; unrushed, filled with simple moments.
Fragrantly sweet are the memories triggered by the pale purple bloom of spring.
So, I prod the fire that is my busy life and know there are some irons that need removing
For writing, running, the pursuit of simple moments, love, and relishing childhood with my children are irons I refuse to remove.