YOUTHFUL REMEMBERANCES IN POETRY

 Sharing two poems I wrote about memories of my childhood. Enjoy!!

 

Missouri Memories

We had no knowledge of exotic escapes enjoyed

by other families during the unencumbered summers

when freedom from school was our foremost delight.

 

Our travels each sweltering summer to the homes

of relatives in muggy Missouri seemed so foreign

to us, a step into another world dissimilar from our own,

 

A world where toilets were diminutive wooden structures

positioned a sufficient distance from the farmhouse

so that its undesirable aroma would not permeate.

 

Grubby stables and barns infected with intermingled odors

of farm animals, hay, oats and fetid excrement assailed

our noses as we embarked on our quest for adventure.

 

We swaggered barefoot in mucky pigsties unaware

of the manure/mud blend encrusted on our feet and legs,

as we mocked squealing piglets and their corpulent sows.

 

We explored secret, dark places where adults would not go,

journeyed dusty paths in anticipation of discovery

somewhere around the next turn along the rutted route.

 

 The trails led us through towering cornstalk giants whispering

secrets among themselves, beside a meandering stream

littered with crooning frogs and zipping dragonflies,

 

to fields where lethargic cows, unconcerned at our invasion

into their serene setting, nibbled grass, flicked ears and tails,

and shuddered muscles to displace bothersome flies.

 

In the velvet evenings we marveled at pinpoint stars,

laughed at playful patterns created by phosphorus flares of fireflies

sporadically signaled as we attempted to snare them.

 

We existed in the moment, not comprehending then that we

were constructing memories, moments to be evoked intermittently

like the flashing of fireflies on sweltering summer evenings.

JACKALOPES

Travelling from Southern California to Missouri and back      

in a station wagon with four rambunctious young children,

two boys and two girls, my parents were creative

in finding ways to occupy our time and avoid battles.

 

“Watch for jackalopes,” my father commanded as he drove.

We’d seen a stuffed jackalope in a tumbledown gas station-

 a large gray-brown jack rabbit adorned with antelope

antlers-and were bewildered by this unique animal.

 

We were ordered to count how many we spied frolicking

out in that dry wilderness among the tumbleweeds

and scrub brush.  Four vigilant children, eyes scrutinizing

the landscape for movement of these quick creatures.

 

So plentiful were these remarkable animals!

We detected hundreds as we travelled along,

engaged with this assignment, excitedly pointing

them out to each other, sharing in our success.

 

But each ensuing summer the jackalopes diminished

in number, their sightings less frequent.  I was the first

to discover that my interest and their appearances

simultaneously waned until I lost the vision altogether.

 

Gliding out of childhood, we slowly drifted away

from the magic and wonder youth held.

The jackalopes became extinct, a remembrance

of those travels, those shared experiences when we

 

took pleasure in observing the cavorting

of fantasy creatures, an experience

which bonded four siblings travelling

from Southern California to Missouri and back.