Childhood Summer

doors creak, opened by
sun-stickied fingers.

a puddle on the sidewalk
shines with a nostalgic glimmer.

——-

the taste of pavement and chalk
so hot an egg could fry.
the oppressive warmth
needs escaping.
doors creak, opened by
sun-stickied fingers.
the air-conditioning inside
smells like fresh water
and feels like an embrace
of ice prickles
leaving bodies punctuated
with goosebumps.

a hose in the backyard
could be a source of hydration
or a toy
while running barefooted
across the grass and clover
trying not to step
on any bees–
the danger only
adding to the fun.

those days pinned down
by sea salt headaches,
leaping from
shade to shade,
erroneously convinced
the best days lay
yet ahead.

Photo by JACK REDGATE from Pexels

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Honeysuckle

Beautiful and sweet and innocent

I watched my mother pull the stem through the honeysuckle flower
and put the petals up to her lips to taste the sweetness.
She was always so cautious,
and as kids she taught us to be so careful.
My brother and I never would have deigned
to pick a flower off a random bush
and taste it.
Who knows what other passersby have done to those
saccharine beauties?
But in that moment, she was too caught up in the nostalgia of her childhood.
She threw caution to the wind
and tasted that luscious liquid,
remembering what it was like
to be youthful and free.

Image by bernswaelz from Pixabay

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