Spring
Stuff feet in plastic Wonder Bread bags, slide them into boots, the leaky red rubber ones. Walk home from school on the everyday dirt road. Stop to visit with a dog, the small,
ginger-coloured one whose tail was flattened by a passing truck. Tell him to speak, play dead. Feed him the meatloaf sandwich your mother packed for you this morning.
Splash through mud puddles, especially the clear ones, mixing water and muck like egg white and brown flour. Beat well with boots and move on, feet in Wonder bags slipping
like eels as water seeps in through cracks in boot heels. At the bottom of the big hill below your house, abandon puddles, jump into the shallow ditch alongside the road. Pick
up a willow branch in case there’s something to poke. Stomp uphill through ropy water rushing over dead grass, slackening into small pools. Stop to examine slimy frog’s-egg
bubbles. Try to step on some, feel bad, keep moving. Milky-green algae, air bubbles clinging to thin brown stems, buttercups blooming on the banks, tadpoles
black exclamation marks everywhere, bits of red bark and twigs rushing by. Where the ditch narrows, balance, one boot in front of the other, meltwater trickling, mud sucking.
Jump up and down, liquid breaking in through rips in your bread bags, feet slip-squishing, water rising, your toes like tiny salmon swimming toward home.
Stuff feet in plastic Wonder Bread bags, slide them into boots, the leaky red rubber ones. Walk home from school on the everyday dirt road. Stop to visit with a dog, the small,
ginger-coloured one whose tail was flattened by a passing truck. Tell him to speak, play dead. Feed him the meatloaf sandwich your mother packed for you this morning.
Splash through mud puddles, especially the clear ones, mixing water and muck like egg white and brown flour. Beat well with boots and move on, feet in Wonder bags slipping
like eels as water seeps in through cracks in boot heels. At the bottom of the big hill below your house, abandon puddles, jump into the shallow ditch alongside the road. Pick
up a willow branch in case there’s something to poke. Stomp uphill through ropy water rushing over dead grass, slackening into small pools. Stop to examine slimy frog’s-egg
bubbles. Try to step on some, feel bad, keep moving. Milky-green algae, air bubbles clinging to thin brown stems, buttercups blooming on the banks, tadpoles
black exclamation marks everywhere, bits of red bark and twigs rushing by. Where the ditch narrows, balance, one boot in front of the other, meltwater trickling, mud sucking.
Jump up and down, liquid breaking in through rips in your bread bags, feet slip-squishing, water rising, your toes like tiny salmon swimming toward home.
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1 comment:
Beautiful poem and beautiful books. I love the pink and blue leather- too cool.
xx
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