Savoring juicy tastes of
The recipe by felicity.
"Don't eat that!" Alice cries.
"It will suck you down a dark hole
to a place where nothing is real!
And it's bad for your heart"
Too late. I already swallowed.
The bittersweet taste lingers,
and my summer that maybe never was
The sunlight is golden and makes eight shadows.
It's down to the longest girl and boy.
When we run out of seeds there is always spit.
But I lack the space they have between my front teeth.
I have no trajectory.
I lose- against the walk, the wind, the others.
I don't mind that I never win,
I adore the contest anyway.
The sun really is warm, the laughter is real.
The lavender snow is real, too,
Where survivors of Suicide Hill trudge on,
Dragging the vehicles of demise behind us,
Followed by periwinkle shadows.
The Milky sunlight fades away,
And lights blink on behind frosted curtains,
lining the pathway home.
Brave heros recount feats of skill and danger,
Taking on swingsets, treestumps, and high jump-bumps,
Unaware of pospsicle toes and frozen stiff snowsuit armor,
Soon to be peeled away and hung in the dungeon,
to become limp dripping vestiges of the day,
While up above, we sit in a circle on one another's toes
to warm away the stinging, burning, cold. No regrets,
My heart is warm and full with the commeraderie.
The treks we make to outer space together are just as real,
Lost in Space together while the glow of the televison
Flickers across familiar features of eight faces.
I see only seven.
We share countless adventure trips,
Some through the looking glass.
I tell them, "Look, now everything is backward!"
"It looks the same to me." they say.
"That's because you're backward, too!"
"Oh I get it." They say
Logic is backward here, too.
The crunch of gravel warns it is time to rush back
to the real world
Through the portal we left in,
before Mom catches us in her bedroom closet
Behind her bedroom mirror.
My heart swells and constricts with nostalgia,
My bites of Watermelon Pickle turn to relish.
A Poem I recently wrote, inspired by the poem "Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity, which I fell in love with in 7th grade, and based on my childhood memories.