As Children we loved to fight for the fun of it
Throw crab apples at neighborhood dogs
Climb fences of abandoned factories
Looking for something worth selling to our nefarious cousins
All the days spent carrying stray cats by the tails.
Hiding the girls dolls in sewage pipes
Making them show theirs, without having to show ours.
And I remember when I cried for my mother
When my brother fell off the back of Stephen’s bike
Gravel faced and shrieking like the devil
Bloodied and devoured by an unpaved sloped drive.
He came home with stitches in his face
And I chased him all over the house
Telling him how much I loved him.
I wanted something made of blankets and grandmother smells
Something steadfast that never leaves
Like my uncle throwing bales of hay off the trailer
Pulled by my aunt Betty driving the old John Deere
How I just sat and felt safe collapsed in the old straw
Worn out from playing with their farm dog, Brixie.
And the more I live,
I realize I’m thankful for my memories
Ones that stay like a stain
Ones that feel like you’d never be who you are,
Without that bit of something,
Past,
but still relevant.
