Sometimes, if I turn quickly,
I think I catch you standing beside me,
before I remember. When we were kids,
we’d spin ourselves dizzy in fields of grass,
hoping to see Jesus in the clouds.
One winter, we buried a bird
that had frozen to the fence, then dug it up
three days later, surprised to find it
still earthbound. In the dark of the metal shed
we pushed the pointer on the Ouija board –
Yes the answer to every question. Back then,
believing in miracles was easy. Now, my
skin grown sallow as hospital walls, it’s all luck
or it isn’t. We’ve spent too much time dizzy,
waiting for outcomes running 50-50 odds,
or digging through the mud of unmarked graves.
Summer evenings, we’d throw our bikes down
at the dead end, race to the Rose of Sharon,
daring each other to lift the just-spent blossoms
from the sidewalk, reveling in the danger –
the bees charging from every other flower –
our shrieks echoing around the neighborhood.
Nov 1, 2013
One of 30-poems-in-30-days