I am the ghost of my child-self

why do I mourn for the boy that I am not anymore,

trace the steps of running up the stairs,

remember the warmth of lost smiles.

mom, who made the brownies I can still smell from my room,

will not use that stove anymore,

yet dad will still try that same recipe, those same cupboards.

I still look for that kindred glow

but my blank wandering can only remember.