Was it all the same summer, or do
Memories of all those holidays
In that house on the hill merge
Into one section of my memory?

Those rolling green hills opened my
Adolescent eyes to the beauty of the world,
Just as my young and fragile heart
Began to see the wonders for which
It had unknowingly waited.

The serenity of that beautiful countryside
Was the perfect antidote to the
Poisonous everyday life that
Stretched my mind and crushed my heart.
It allowed me to be young and carefree
As true childhood always should.

*

Dark hair, dark eyes and a smile
Framed by summer skin: she was
A fragment of a dream coming true
Before my too wide eyes.

As my mother paid her mother
For the ice creams, we simply looked
Silently at one another, and a song
I heard on the radio once
Began to play in my head.

I never said anything, and I never
Went back, because even then
I wanted that moment to be
Just so.

*

She was just as new to the world,
And just as inappropriately dressed
As I was.

From where had she travelled
To swim and play mini golf?
Where was her temporary room
Into which the summer sunlight streamed?
Did she notice me as much
As she distracted me?

I remember these questions
From half my life ago because
I never asked them.

*

I sit, listening to the half hearted
Winter rain land lazily on
The window, and wonder who is
Caring for that old house now.

I hope that they smile at
The broad summer skies and
The lush, distant hills.

Perhaps they have a teenage son,
For whom those things are
Vital: to whom they are an endless
Reminder of why this world is
The most wonderful place to be.

01/13/2011

Posted on 06/08/2011
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