back in the days
when innocence was still the norm,
and gentleman were still bred,
i sat silently on the porch,
or in the tire swing with my legs
dangling.
there i would "survey my lands,"
and play cops and robbers,
or indians and pilgrims,
while my mother
(on hands and knees)
would sow the seeds of her crop;
her bounty --
(whether in soil or
in the sod of my attention span.)
she would wipe smudges from her brow
with a gloved hand and a trowel,
making sure that each bud would emerge
in perfect unison with spring,...
then retreat for other wears,
granting me the opportunity
to slink between the cracks and
find my never never land.

i was a child, then.
young, naive
i was still unpicked, and often,
i would play the part of the chameleon;
the jester, the king, or even the fool.

i'd dress up or dress down,
abiding in the grass with the crickets
and dandelions
(which sang their own song
whenever the mood struck.)

there, behind the garden, i created my
"happy thoughts," and safety nets,
there, where i could be tinker bell,
the lost boys, captain hook, and peter pan
all at once.
there, behind the garden,
where the flowers bloomed, never wilted
and the red trees grew up green.

04/10/2002

Posted on 04/10/2002
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe