Structural Stories

The scent of fresh plywood, a whisper of home,

with each cut and measure, the past unfolds clear,

reminders of building, of dreams that we comb,

where childhood was framed, and laughter was near.

I helped him to hammer, to sand and to shape,

wood splinters caught in the air, like old song,

these moments, they linger, they help me escape,

a structure of memories where I still belong.