When our entire address was “Route 6,”
the road in front of our house was dirt
and rocks, and the irrigation ditch
was deeper than I was tall.
On a good day, the wind would blow
pig-farm stench in the other direction.
On cold days, we’d step out into waist-high drifts,
dragging our worn-out sled behind us
and slide down the hill, right over
the snowed-in cellar door.
On warm days, we could run outside
in our underclothes or take a walk to the pond.
On weekends we’d build forts in the unused ditches,
and scoop up grass-clippings
to fill garbage sack furniture.
When the evenings were warm,
we'd collect fireflies in mason jars,
with a few leaves and stems,
to keep them as two-day pets.
Sometimes, I would feel bad,
(being the oldest, I knew they wouldn’t make it)
so I’d set them free when my brother wasn’t looking.
At dusk, when dad came home,
he’d holler over his CB radio
out a speaker shaped like a megaphone
stuck to his car roof with a magnet.
It was quiet, you could hear his tires
on the gravel road long before
he started his announcement.
We didn’t care; we ran outside
as if we’d never had a better surprise.
This is deep. I like the simplicity and how personal this poem is. Lots of imagery as well as emotion embedded in the tone.
Have to tell you I have really enjoyed the challenge pieces you have written this month. Since they aren't edited as much as your regular pieces it shows a different side or step in your process that I feel like I didn't get to really see before. I actually enjoy these less filtered poems just as much as your regular ones .
What a wonderful way to pen memories to a poem. Sometimes the simple things we have in life are the most cherished. I enjoyed the fact that you set the fireflies you had captured free while your brother wasn't looking. You must have had quite the silver tongue to explain their escape, I'd enjoy hearing that.
The title is perfect and makes the reader want to see the poem. Another @tlhopkinson original.
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