The birdhouse holds only memories & the training wheels on my bike are
weighed down by dust. Lily of the valley sinks a little lower today,
dandelion stems melt down to skin & bone, white fluff
withers away. Mama is pleased, no more weeding needs to be done. But,
I never got to blow one out. Mama tells me to pick the last of the raspberries, & I scour
the bush for admiration. Mama is not pleased with the stain on my shirt,
but I tell her I like it. It will help me remember the summer raspberries.
The rain is warm and it carries unspoken promises, the clouds hide the
truth. I’ve gotten a little taller, just like the grass dad refuses to mow. He tells me
he likes it long, it reminds him of the hills in Indiana. I stopped
seeing the nextdoor neighbors dog. Mama is pleased, no more barking.
But I never got to pet him. On the first cool day mama tells me to pick the
last of the raspberries. I tell her I don’t want to, & she shoves a bowl into my
hands and pushes me out the door. I’m extra careful not to stain
my shirt. Thorns prick my clumsy fingers & my skin matches the hue of the
raspberries. Mama is not pleased with the blood, but I tell her it’s okay.
I will get my own bandaid, & clean my own wounds. The moss on the trees is
beginning to brown, & the wind blows away the last days
of August. Crabapples give in, sailing down to the concrete road, destined to deflate
under car tires. I lost my last baby tooth. Mama is pleased, finally
I am a big girl. But what will happen to the tooth fairy? It’s the first cool day & I
await my annual task, the ceramic bowl, the stains, nothing
comes. I ask mama if I should pick the last of the raspberries. At last, mama is
pleased with me! We embark on a journey to the backyard,
but the bush is bare & I am too late.
