Thoughts on My Grandparent's House

I can still look out the window
And see grandfather working
With old tools – the names of which I can’t recall –
In the woodshed.

I can still taste Aquafresh
And smell the Marlboros
Mix with Folgers Coffee
In the morning.

I can still feel painted blocks
Near storybooks and board games
And imagine them as castles
In their bag.

I can still hear the conversations
I never understood in youth
Yet would interrupt to feel important
In the kitchen.

I can still remember laughter
As if it never left the walls
Or died with grandma
In the living room.
Sigh. It hurts to vent.