These Hazy Days

Oh, Memory Lane II

You're on a walk in a neighborhood you used to know. It's late August but it feels like fall already, and the sky is gray with rain that comes and goes. It's steady in the deciduous trees above you now, and your coat's uncomfortably damp. You can smell the down between the seams.

     Today, what have you done? Nothing that you can think of. You've started this resolution you'll probably drop accidentally, where you don't eat a thing between your small meals. You're feeling weak but you're not sure if it's the diet or just you. You've never been very strong. Maybe you shouldn't be out here alone. You used to know these streets but that was years ago.

     You stop under a green willow tree, its leaves glinting in the rain. You think you hear chimes, similar to the ones that used to hang above your crib—but you know that can't be so.

     You come to an oddity in the pattern of streets. There's a white board in front of you, like the kind you see by train tracks, and it has a red diamond holding up its warning palm at you. Don't enter, does it mean? But it's just an unclaimed plot of grass behind, scattered with the apple-litter from selfish rusting trees. You climb over the bar and something hits you in the chest. You halt.

     You came here on a family walk once—you and your brother and your parents in the quickly-falling snow. You threw the football around with them, but your hands were too cold to catch and you felt ashamed of yourself. Your brother said, "Carter's parents are getting a divorce. I'm glad that we're all happy."

     You start to run from this place, in any direction you please, and then you're in a curving alley. You know this sad place too. You, your brother, and your dad came here during the separation. The days were nearing Halloween and the decorations leered at you, but still you felt so safe in the alley on that dark and happy night.

     You wish you could get it all back, but you know you never will.

NOTE: This isn't a poem, but I wrote it 8/21/19 so it qualifies to be in this summer collection. Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed all you've read here! I'm so grateful to you, and I want you to know constructive criticism is always accepted. I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of my work!

--KingfisherBirdLady