Front Yard

I miss the trees in our front yard,

And the soft breeze,

Warm against my young browning skin.

Sitting on our back porch, with some new craft my older sisters practice.

I miss living in my thinning linen yellow sundress.

My mom knew I’d outgrown, but just couldn't let go.

What a flower child I was, and I guess still am.

I used to crave a city, like the one I’m living in now.

But I still can’t wash that country road from my skin, or the scrapes off my chin.

Riding bikes with my dad holding onto my back,

And then down freshly paved roads,

With my younger brother at dusk, my truest kin.

How I miss him.

Chasing chickens and sneaking around farmers fields,

Knowing two little black kids shouldn’t take such risks,

Especially where we lived.

I remember naming all the horses down the street we lived;

Sandy dr.; Sometimes I wonder how we survived.

Passing by each stack of hay, waving to them like familiar friends,

On the way to the one and only library;

There were a lot of those; one and only’s ; One bank, one grocery store, and one dollar store.

I’d always bring any dollar I had to spend in.

I remember getting to pick out story time books and VHS tapes,

If we were all good that day.

Piled high, pillows and blankets covered our cold living room floor,

Yelling to close the doors, so no light would peak in as our chosen film would begin.

I miss the rusted red wagon I didn’t want to give away,

But like my dress I’d somehow outgrown that too, one day.

I miss riding bikes to the parks up the street to race our paper made boats,

Down the fresh water creek.

I was too scared to swim, but eventually did end up jumping in.

Carefully crafted with tiny hands and determined eyes,

Our paper boats took off,

Racing alongside them, proud; we’d folded them just right.

Mine got stuck on the root of tree and did not survive,

I can’t remember if we declared if there was a tie.

Tennis lessons, sidewalk chalk, and farmers market days.

Dairy ranch ice creams way past bedtime, we ate outside next to the cemetery,

I pretended like it didn’t scare me but it did, well past the age of five.

All the things I can’t fathom letting go of now but tried so hard to,

For too long a time.

I miss when time didn’t pass so quickly,

When summer felt like forever and I never thought of endings.

Picking dandelions, holding kitten paws and getting new scars from hot pavement falls;

Oh, how I miss the trees in our front yard.

I hope they miss me too.