Barefeet Turtlecreek Summer

Wake up, get up, look at us!
I’m home again, and you’re seven, and I’m ten.
The summer is ours, Coco. Let’s burn it up!

The world is gold when the calendar flips
to June. Kids flood from their caves and the cat sleeps
on the square carpet sun patches again.

A pirate ship docked by the mailbox, and
treasure dug up under the rose bush.
The yard is a book of journeys, so let’s read
another one, all alone, but not really,
in this home of patched love.

Let’s climb every tree and scrape every knee.
Hot ramen for lunch, slurping noises,
happy noises.

Shhh, quiet. There’s the ghost of what could have been.
Dad by the sink, Mom in his arms. Two steps back,
smooth twirl, swaying around the gray oak table.

But lately it’s only been curled up Mom and
her leather chair, Dad in her lap. Trace the lines,
the perfect cut lines, slow down the front of his face.

Dad’s love was like a pen that doesn’t really work.
You can see the effort, but everyone says to toss it.

And mom, you were always busy, and gave too much love
than we deserved. You traded those California waves for us,
and I love you.

All alone, but not really, in this home of patched love.
Don’t watch, Coco, sadness is a terrible thing.
Never grow up, okay?

Red stains in the sky melt away, and we talk on nothing,
yet everything. Still warm grass sticks to our legs,
“Juju, how do you kiss a boy?”- Hey, what did I say?

Quick, supper is on the table, Mom is home,
and it’s time to sleep. Dream of me again,
and I’ll be there.

Sleep, precious sister, and dream
beautiful mother, in this home of patched love.

The summer is ours, Coco,
let’s burn it up.