Summers, 1957-1963
It was something in the shape of the landscape,
the weight of light and darkness, our impressionable age,
the shrug of the wind, the chatter of creatures, and how
the moon poured itself into the tangles of fear and fantasy.
The neighborhood dogs became animals
of unusual stature. They walked taller
so we gave them new names like
Bruiser, Ginger, Fang, Casper, and Winnie.
Sometimes we wondered if time stood still
on the cloudy days. Watches were unaffected.
Andy said that real time stops. All watches are
past real time. They could be years ahead.
There was no reason to doubt him.
Judy liked to collect rain water.
When she got a full cup, she watered the
little rock garden she kept in her bedroom.
Mary, Judy’s little sister, applauded when
she saw everyone being followed by flutterbys.
Sue and Bertha saw flocks of birds they had never seen.
They named them ‘Garblers’ for their confusing song.
They came every summer until Sue and Bertha
started high school. The birds were sadly missed.
We clothes-pinned canasta cards to our bicycles
to slap against the spokes. We all rode Harleys,
bravely exploring the wilderness.
On moon-lit nights we rode our Harleys into the sandpit,
singing Ghost Riders, the balm to our grief,
asserting freedom from the chaos of some of our homes.
We were the Paladins who kept our world right side up
so it would spin into another day, and all would stay well,
with never a thought that one day all this would disappear.
From: Stumbling Through Dreams, Memories
and the Unintelligible
Unpub. MS p. 8
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