On Childhood, Green Grass, and Honeysuckle Vines

September 19, 2013 Moonshine Journal
The child within me wants . . .

I remember sitting cross-legged
by the honeysuckle vines, licking
its clear syrup from the stems,
the taste so sweet. I want that time again,
the afternoons that drag by, that allow
quiet pleasure.

I want a pastureland of green grass
where I can walk barefoot forever
feeling the coolness of the green
between my toes.

I want the most important thing
of life to be watching the seasons,
learning new spelling words, and
playing dress-up.

I want to ride my bike and feel
the wind whip my hair back
to let go of the handlebars, to
sense the freedom air.

I want to mingle with my childhood
friend, Deloris Dugger,
and wear the beauty queen
crown of her sister like
we were just crowned ourselves.

I want to write more poems
like I wrote in the second grade
in Mrs. Brown’s class, to draw
more pictures to paint, to paint.

I want to smell the lead and wood
in my nickel fat pencils and the
promise of the tablet paper
to hold my words.

I want to feel connected to the
universe--my frame of reference
being a blue domed sky and
a solid ground of earth beneath.

I want the sureity, the miracle
Of a child’s tiny hands, how much
they can hold, dandelions and water
from the stream, dirt and frogs.

Those days were innocence
and mama’s pearls, the
smell of summer cut grass
and the sure promise of
doing it all over again the next day.