“Do You Remember?” New Era, Aug. 1982, 30
Do You Remember?
Do you remember the sweating days of summer,
when the hot sun did magic to your skin
and made you an Indian?
You had barely escaped from the first grade,
and could hardly even begin to think about the next year
and being a whole grade bigger.
Mom’s marigolds didn’t take it too graciously
when you decided to fall in love with the girl next door
and knew that the purple weeds that grew in the field across the street
just weren’t enough.
There were always candy-bar days and ice-cream days
and days of eating chocolate chip cookies on the swing—
still warm and melty and ohsogood.
You remember now the backyard town that needed no name,
and the treehouse where you spent so many library-book days—
so way up.
One time you got to ride your bike all the way to the drugstore
with $.15 in your pocket that jingled and kept time
to your up-and-down knees the whole way …
and on the way back your mouth was one big sugar-sweet wad
of bright pink bubble gum.
Those were the days
that you walked into the baking kitchen
with stolen strawberry smiles,
thinking mom would never know;
but she always did, and she held you hostage
until you confessed and apologized—
and you laughed when you ran outside
because moms never learn the secret of crossed fingers.
Sprinkler shenanigans that outsmarted the sun,
and trips to the warm green pool
that made your eyes look like roadmaps.
Visits to Grandma and Grandpa’s porch
where Grandma knitted you all kinds of things,
and where you went for rides on Grandpa’s knee,
always hoping that your mount would never tire.
Aladdin’s lamp, King Arthur’s court, beautiful princesses, Tom Sawyer,
and one last glass of water …
and then you slept
and remembered.
Photo by Debby Thiemann
Photo by Robert Kempton