I remember I used to throw pebbles at frogs.
Should have used a spear.
And I climbed trees higher than you could.
One night I bit through all my chicken bones and sucked out the marrow.
My mother never kissed me, so she never smelled the wild mushrooms on my breath,
But she taught me how to mend my bruises--
Years after that, clouds ruined her crisp eyes,
But though I tried, I never hid my limp from her.
Surprise--
On my birthday I fell in the ravine
And learned how soft my ankle was--
The water is always cool,
But too long touching, it freezes.
You forgot your fear of mud.
You slid down unwavering as the bank grew teeth to bite your hands,
And I almost had to carry you out when you landed.
But you struggled up, trying to carry yourself if you couldn’t carry me,
Smearing blood on my arms until Pa came to Alf’s whining,
And we collapsed on the Chevy’s red leather. |
Submission Name: Swamp-rats
