a home I used to know

I wrote this a few months ago when I couldn't get my grandparent's home out of my head.

I miss the desert. I miss the smell of creosote, the sunsets, the full moon falling on my grandmother's roses. I miss that home, the house made of adobe bricks that they formed by hand. I close my eyes and stand next to the roses. They are thick and fragrant, red, pink and yellow. Tomorrow they are sure to be burned by the sun....but for now, they are full bodied drinks and I get drunk on their scent. I pick one and place it in my hair. I stare at the two trees in the yard. I used to hang in them and dream about love. In the corner of the yard is a shrine that holds a Virgin Mary statue. Placed lovingly next to it is a picture of my great grandmother, Frances. This yard has seen many things, and holds many memories....years of hidden easter eggs and christmas lights. The broken pinatas exploding into showers of confetti and candy. The time I drank my first glass of champagne one New Year's Eve, and then promptly threw it up. Or when Mariachis serenaded my grandparent's on the morning of their 50th wedding anniversary. My grandfather grabbed each girl and danced with her. I know they are sleeping inside, dreaming whatever people dream after a full life. I miss that home.