Day 322: Kids at Midday

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∴

she would knock on his door at midday
and ring the bell till he answered,
and say,

“come out, please, to play.”

 

i’m sure his mother objected:
who would have preferred him
to join a club
like the scouts
or awanas
and find boys his age.

but as that would be impolite
to suggest,
she acquiesced to his parting
and loosed the boy from his cage.

 

the girl was ruddy and wild
with red curls, exploding,
she made a most precocious child
whose wisdom exceeded
the depth of her heel
and whose thinness of skin
taught her how to not feel;

to bandage her knees with prayers,
barely whispered

and salve-soothe the still-working fingers,
though blistered.

 

“come.

to the clubhouse.

our battle awaits.

i’ve put posies in our pockets

and lavender at the gates.

can you hear

the drumming

within?”

 

they donned dishcloths for capes
and dandelion garlands
and foraged for swords in the brush
while the world went before them
in a growing-up rush.

 

i wonder sometimes,
if it was dragons they slayed
or if they fought ‘gainst the people
they were meant to be made.

 

they were good fights.
that lasted through dusk.
till they traced back to doorsteps,
through cornstalks and husks.

·

he moved away, that boy.
with his mother,
they went.

to be ‘round goodlier neighbors
as i understand.

but you could still catch him –
long since made a man –

day dreaming of the un-hurdled races he ran
with fiery, frizzy-haired wisps from the woods

who are rumored to still sleep
in the empty thresholds of doors

and where good friends

once stood.

∴

 

 

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