Boxcar

Childhood memories can be, very vivid. Even when they are from, A very early age. I don't remember much, About my early life, But one memory stands out. my parents were farmworkers, And indelibly etched in my mind, Is a memory of my first home. It was an old railroad, boxcar. It stood, I don't know, For sure where. It could have been Idaho, It could have been Oregon. I don't know. But what I do remember, Is my father building a huge fire. Outside the boxcar. Then when the fire had burned down, He brought the embers inside. In the middle of the boxcar, He had set up some bricks. And on the bricks, a big plowing disc. Upon the disc he piled the embers. That was our heat source. Then my mother, Tucked me under some blankets. Right there on the floor. I remember very clearly, Looking up at an, opening, Because there was an opening, That I could see Between the roof and the walls. As I lay on the floor. And I could see the snow, Slowly drifting in, And piling up on the rafters. And as I continued to gaze, Little birds came in and perched, Just inside on the rafter studs. Hundreds of them, coming in, From the cold. That deep rooted memory, Never leaves my mind, And it always reminds me, Of what my parents went through, For me, 12/6/10 Alton Texas