In the days when I was taller
In the days when I was taller
In the days when I was taller than you,
We would roam the fields
And the skunk weeds we plucked from
Under sun drenched alders would open
Other worlds containing dinosaurs.
We played until we couldn’t
Believe anymore
And found ourselves trying to
Force the magic that came with
Childhood.
But we learned that you can’t
Force the magic.
That the incantations
Change with age.
And are harder to memorize.
We forgot them the same way
That we forgot about capturing
Frog eggs to hatch
Or grass hoppers to feed to kittens.
The last ten years of my life
There haven’t been any frogs
Or grasshoppers.
Now, when I hear the croaking that
Comes with spring and the summer heat,
I remember us swearing that the splashes we
Heard in the wet swamp grass
Were those of the biggest toads
We’d ever seen.
Though we hardly ever saw them.
Golf balls littered the fields
Half buried and sun bleached
To an unnatural white.
We’d spend summers hunting
Their treasured dimpled bodies
Only to lose them in games of stick ball.
To this day we don’t know
The reason they were there.
It was a cow field, and
We were as far from a golf course as
Children could get.
You fell into the garden once.
You were riding too fast on your big wheel
And tumbled off the hill
Over the edge of the driveway in.
You fell straight into the black berry brambles and as
I watched Mom pick the stickers from
Your smooth, young skin,
Soothing you with words only she
Could articulate in that way,
I couldn’t keep from smiling
As an older sibling does when the younger
Learns a lesson worth watching.
The garden that used to hold corn
And pumpkins, squash and carrots.
The green beans were our favorite and
We would sneak in and eat until our eyes
Turned green.
We helped to plant and till,
Grow and sow,
And learned that to get dirty in work was
Something to be proud of.
I remember the day you became braver than me.
Walking the driveway, we were too small
To go unprotected,
But the days were long
And the sun makes sneaks and liars of us all
And so out we snuck.
When the cows that seemed too big to be real
Came over the drying creek bed,
I froze in fear and
You stepped in front of me,
For the first time,
Not about to let them get me.
Walking home, a crisis averted,
You stood a little straighter
And I was proud to walk by your side
Instead of in front of you.
Back then, trees were our homes
And we made mud pies for dinner.
Stolen bowls from Grandma’s cupboard
Held concoctions only untainted minds could
Make up with sticks and dirt clods.
And in these games played with the cousins
That were more our siblings,
We lived in another world.
Untainted by the pain of growing up
Too fast in a world that is sick with itself and
What we’ve done to it.
I remember the first bird you killed with
Grandpa’s gun.
He asked us to kill “those gosh darned barn poopers”
Because they nested and messed everywhere.
I remember how excited we were.
And then,
When it was done,
The gun hung limp by your side
And our fours sets of eyes looked down on the
Dead barn swallow in a circle created by
Our young bodies and inexperienced minds,
I remember the sadness and confusion
And how we learned that it didn’t feel good
To kill a thing that was only…just…living.
We learned these lessons together.
And as the years passed,
The orchards thinned
And the creek bank collapsed a little more
With each rainy season.
The garden hasn’t been planted in
Going on eight years now
And the weeds have taken over.
Our rain boots gather dust.
Forgotten are the days when the fields
Would fill up with puddles like lakes
When our younger selves would
Have dashed into the downpour
Just to jump in unfamiliar bodies of water
That didn’t belong.
There were salamanders back then.
They were pink and alien and only Dad could find them.
Hidden beneath rocks,
We’d beg him to hunt them for us.
I had to convince you that they couldn’t hurt you.
In those days, the same as now,
I would protect you from anything that might hurt you.
But now, those things are much bigger
And more alien
Than salamanders and underground bee hives.
Than sink holes in muddy fields which stole shoes
And balance.
Than the barbed wire fences that we couldn’t
Help but get caught up in almost every time.
You don’t need me to tell you to be careful.
You don’t need me to protect you anymore.
But I’m here.
And I will.
For always.
By Malorie Spreen
In the days when I was taller
In the days when I was taller
In the days when I was taller than you,
We would roam the fields
And the skunk weeds we plucked from
Under sun drenched alders would open
Other worlds containing dinosaurs.
We played until we couldn’t
Believe anymore
And found ourselves trying to
Force the magic that came with
Childhood.
But we learned that you can’t
Force the magic.
That the incantations
Change with age.
And are harder to memorize.
We forgot them the same way
That we forgot about capturing
Frog eggs to hatch
Or grass hoppers to feed to kittens.
The last ten years of my life
There haven’t been any frogs
Or grasshoppers.
Now, when I hear the croaking that
Comes with spring and the summer heat,
I remember us swearing that the splashes we
Heard in the wet swamp grass
Were those of the biggest toads
We’d ever seen.
Though we hardly ever saw them.
Golf balls littered the fields
Half buried and sun bleached
To an unnatural white.
We’d spend summers hunting
Their treasured dimpled bodies
Only to lose them in games of stick ball.
To this day we don’t know
The reason they were there.
It was a cow field, and
We were as far from a golf course as
Children could get.
You fell into the garden once.
You were riding too fast on your big wheel
And tumbled off the hill
Over the edge of the driveway in.
You fell straight into the black berry brambles and as
I watched Mom pick the stickers from
Your smooth, young skin,
Soothing you with words only she
Could articulate in that way,
I couldn’t keep from smiling
As an older sibling does when the younger
Learns a lesson worth watching.
The garden that used to hold corn
And pumpkins, squash and carrots.
The green beans were our favorite and
We would sneak in and eat until our eyes
Turned green.
We helped to plant and till,
Grow and sow,
And learned that to get dirty in work was
Something to be proud of.
I remember the day you became braver than me.
Walking the driveway, we were too small
To go unprotected,
But the days were long
And the sun makes sneaks and liars of us all
And so out we snuck.
When the cows that seemed too big to be real
Came over the drying creek bed,
I froze in fear and
You stepped in front of me,
For the first time,
Not about to let them get me.
Walking home, a crisis averted,
You stood a little straighter
And I was proud to walk by your side
Instead of in front of you.
Back then, trees were our homes
And we made mud pies for dinner.
Stolen bowls from Grandma’s cupboard
Held concoctions only untainted minds could
Make up with sticks and dirt clods.
And in these games played with the cousins
That were more our siblings,
We lived in another world.
Untainted by the pain of growing up
Too fast in a world that is sick with itself and
What we’ve done to it.
I remember the first bird you killed with
Grandpa’s gun.
He asked us to kill “those gosh darned barn poopers”
Because they nested and messed everywhere.
I remember how excited we were.
And then,
When it was done,
The gun hung limp by your side
And our fours sets of eyes looked down on the
Dead barn swallow in a circle created by
Our young bodies and inexperienced minds,
I remember the sadness and confusion
And how we learned that it didn’t feel good
To kill a thing that was only…just…living.
We learned these lessons together.
And as the years passed,
The orchards thinned
And the creek bank collapsed a little more
With each rainy season.
The garden hasn’t been planted in
Going on eight years now
And the weeds have taken over.
Our rain boots gather dust.
Forgotten are the days when the fields
Would fill up with puddles like lakes
When our younger selves would
Have dashed into the downpour
Just to jump in unfamiliar bodies of water
That didn’t belong.
There were salamanders back then.
They were pink and alien and only Dad could find them.
Hidden beneath rocks,
We’d beg him to hunt them for us.
I had to convince you that they couldn’t hurt you.
In those days, the same as now,
I would protect you from anything that might hurt you.
But now, those things are much bigger
And more alien
Than salamanders and underground bee hives.
Than sink holes in muddy fields which stole shoes
And balance.
Than the barbed wire fences that we couldn’t
Help but get caught up in almost every time.
You don’t need me to tell you to be careful.
You don’t need me to protect you anymore.
But I’m here.
And I will.
For always.
