Journeying on Well-Traveled Roads

By Fatema Abdul Salik

I miss the days that were.

My brother was young and I could carry him everywhere.

When dawn would rise and I would not hurry.

Walk around with eyes sleepy and blurry.

My mother would take care—

Of anything I needed for my daily fare.

I miss the days that were.

My brother was young and I could carry him everywhere.

Sitting on the kitchen counter with my legs swinging.

The scents that now leave memories lingering.

Every year I waited for rain that would freeze.

My hair flying in the cold breeze.

Those childhood days that leave me pining;

Where mama and papa were my only stars shining.

I miss the days that were.

My brother was young and I could carry him everywhere.