NaPoWriMo #15 - A Prose Poem

Mourning Glory Days

They say you can't go home again. Someone tell my brain, fledgling memory, all wet wings and flutter. Flashback. Each time I sail down the highway, winging curves like a fortune teller tracing love lines with a crooked finger, here come the boyfriends, flying back. Seasonal flightline. A whole flock roosting, making nests. Delivering writhing worms and stiff beetles to feed my starving memory. Once, I covered pine cones in peanut butter, rolled them in seed. Hung them by thick red strands of yarn from an overgrown lilac tree. Lover's string. Lovesick breakfast. The birds never came. It is never like that with the boys from home.