the greenbelts behind your house
my childhood was the summer of ninety-six.
looking down ravines into dry creek beds,
and plodding across the brown grass
unknowingly, we tried to escape to secret secluded groves
and succeeded, for a time.
we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the rocks, and i told stories about the bugs.
we saw a greater purpose under the canopy and ran,
ran down those trails. but the deeper we delved
(into the forest between our neighborhoods)
the further we'd have to clamor back home before dark.
every day a little further.
every day a little stronger, i was running into the arms of everything i thought i feared. no matter which direction, i kept running
every day closer to the end of summer.
looking down ravines into dry creek beds,
and plodding across the brown grass
unknowingly, we tried to escape to secret secluded groves
and succeeded, for a time.
we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the rocks, and i told stories about the bugs.
we saw a greater purpose under the canopy and ran,
ran down those trails. but the deeper we delved
(into the forest between our neighborhoods)
the further we'd have to clamor back home before dark.
every day a little further.
every day a little stronger, i was running into the arms of everything i thought i feared. no matter which direction, i kept running
every day closer to the end of summer.