Growing so Sweet and Treacherous
The tree and that crack
in the sidewalk are the same,
where I flew like a small creature
made from wind and hair and scabbed knee
down and over the small bump that the root
curved just so for my delight.
I would stop and pull the corked bark
out a little and it seemed it opened
just for me to hide treasures,
pieces of polished glass
a lovely smooth pebble
a four leaf clover,
somehow I thought as I drove by
they might still be there
waiting my charge
into a new adventure.
The house where I grew up
still stands with dormer window eyes
and a door now filled with stained glass.
The green lawn so good for running,
was where I broke my arm tripping on the sprinkler,
now there is a hill there
with a jungle of delicious flowering plants
and although it is the same
it is twenty years different then when
my mother locked the door one final time
and then later I comforted myself with her ghost.
I wanted to knock and proclaim myself the person
who put love notes so tenderly written
under the eves outside my bedroom window,
I was the one who ate all those sandwiches outside
and hid them in that hedge out front.
I think the peanut butter and tuna fish
must still be perfect
and undisturbed now.
Above the garage now
is a beautiful room with lovely windows
when before it held my butterfly collection
and was where my brother sent my first admirer
up the ladder then pulled it away and made him stay
‘til he was done with following me,
for I was twelve and knew nothing of my sexual power
or the burgeoning heat that had attracted him.
You are still soaking with memory
house…dear house where growing
was so sweet and treacherous,
you still hold the scars and laughter
of my childhood locked inside.