Friday, January 30, 2015

Lost Poems: Walking in the Greenbelt

2GoodOmen

Walking in the Greenbelt

Mom, me, Becca, and Charlie, journeyed for picnics each summer day,
in our little red wagon, carting our blanket and picnic basket,
with its red and white checkered lining, broken handle, and missing flap,
that should have closed over half the basket,
instead food would overflow.

We laid out the blanket, eat our sandwiches and chips,
skipping stones under the three big trees,
sharing their shade with the path that led to the fallen tree ---
where all the teenagers etched their initials in a heart with someone else's ---

Mom placed us on the red chipped railing used for tying up horses
so we could pretend to be cowboy and girls.

The red wagon dropped us off at the bridge
where we would tromp across, like in Three Billy Goats Gruff,
and the troll growled at us underneath.

After the bridge we rode up to the walk of the little stone house,
a family built long ago when it must have been the middle of nowhere,
carrying an old loaf of bread to feed the ducks of the neighboring pond.

Up the steep hill, the red wagon would climb,
taking us back home for our afternoon nap.

Mom and I still go to the bridge
tromping across it, like in Three Billy Goats Gruff,
and the troll still growls at us underneath.
It's just something we play at.


~Written by me, Annette, in the Spring of 2003.

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