Green & Golden

The plot of land from which I sprouted

had a playhouse in the backyard built by dad. 

It had only a rock wall separating my best friend and I

and a tree out front that was planted by Papa's boycott troop.

Here, there was a rug in the playroom to drive toy cars on with my sister,

and a basement sink perfect as a Barbie hot tub,

and plenty of nooks and crannies for hide-and-go-seek,

or for the Easter bunny to scatter our clumsily-painted eggs in. 

His handwriting looked a lot like dad's.

Here, the elementary school was close enough for mom to walk with me every morning, 

stopping only to grab a peach from the neighbor's tree. 

And close enough to the convenience store that

dad and I could walk every Sunday morning 

to get a piece of candy and this week's Uncle Henry's. 

Here, I was close enough to Alley and Sam's houses that

a scooter was all I needed.

And the library and park where I learned to ride a bike

were only a hop, skip, and a jump away.

There is a stone in memory of my first cat beside the garage. 

And theres still gravel in the side yard where the swings used to be.

And my uncle's note is still in the insulation, from when they had to rebuild after the fire.

And my name is still written in red nail polish on the shelf inside my closet.

And I know, after everything, I'm not the only thing that sprouted here. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the poem. Old places and memories. Become more solid with time. I liked the description. You made place and situation come alive in your words. I believe old houses gain personalities. A lived in house hold many secrets and tales. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote