With no time to wait for the prompt, please excuse this bit of sentimentality in lieu of following a prescribed theme today. I’m still in Minnesota. Yesterday we saw my older sister. Today we go for brunch with the childhood best friend of my sister–moved away from our small town over sixty years ago. Impossible.
Meeting an Old Friend
Sixty years since you lived one block away.
In one hour we meet for brunch and memories.
Really my sister’s friend,
but in small towns, so devoid of much else to do,
people still living and moved away
Your mother the nightclub singer
with the distinctive whistle that called you home
from behind trees and low in ditches at night,
the rest of us still caught in the thrlll of “ditch ‘em”–
our version of hide-and-seek.
I was the tag-a-long, the watcher
to your games of Tarzan
and the neighborhood plays
raising nickel-after-nickel for a memorial plaque
for the small boy killed from a fall from the tallest slippery slide.
That slide gone soon after, the plaque never installed,
as you were gone to a larger town
and voice lessons translating your pure high voice
to the more studied operatic perfection
of a sweet bottom in a tight girdle.
Still a small town girl at heart
now, all these years later,
you pull our somewhat
voices to you
Actually, as I am ready to walk out the door, today’s prompt to write about a nightmare came through. Since I published a picture and short write-up of my childhood nightmare two days ago, I guess that qualifies. You can read about it HERE. (Look for the picture of the bridge and the words below it.)