Memories From Boulder Colorado

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The persimmons by the porch were never ready to eat
But the peppermints- always deep in the bottom of her bag-
Were handed out every Sunday

There was, at some point, an apple tree in the backyard
Granny Smith apples- light green and ripening and then rotting on the ground
But then, just like the rose bushes,
Uprooted and driven away in the back of a truck

There was a real tree house up there-
You had to climb on spikes sticking out from the bark
Just to get up high enough to crawl inside
It was full of rotted wood and soggy magazines
Left there by whoever had built it;
That's the first time I had ever seen porn

There's still a grapevine, I think
Outside the kitchen window
But never have I seen grapes growing on it
I just kind of take their word that grapes really do grow there

The ground was soft and sunken from the lake being drained
And we had no boots or galoshes
But still chased frogs through the dying lake grass

I had a pink bicycle, too
I named it Rikki Tikki Tavi
Because it was a Mongoose
And even though there were no eggs
There was that laureate of summer

And sometimes I could swear that if you just looked hard enough, you could see all the answers to all the questions that you could ever think to ask.