At the Other End of the Street

Tuesday 3/18/08

At the Other End of the Street

Sometimes we played
baseball: rocks
for home plate
and second,
a crack on the sidewalk
for first, and a dandelion
on someone's lawn
for third.

Other days the telephone
pole became our safe spot
for playing Hide 'n' Seek.
I was a good hider
and "it" would always
have to holler,
"Allee Allee entry."

We played jump rope
and double Dutch
with clothesline.
"2-4-6-8-10,
2-4-6-8-20."
"England, Ireland,
Scotland, Wales,
red, white, blue"

And, at eight sharp
mothers from all along
the street
would call our names
and we'd head
into our other lives.

Treasure

"Treasure" for Writer’s Island January 15, 2008

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s 1959
and I’m sitting
in front of our black
and white Sylvania
TV.

My mom has just rearranged
the rabbit ears
for the best reception
and now The Little
Rascals is on.

Spanky and his friends
are exploring a cave
when they stumble
upon a room filled
with treasure. They
drape themselves
in jewels and pearls,
necklaces and bracelets.
Golden doubloons
drip through their fingers.

My eyes devour
those riches.
I think of all
the luxuries I could buy
if I had that wealth.

It’s 2008
and I’m sitting
in front of my laptop
writing a poem.
I open the treasure
chest of jewels
I carry around with me
and drape myself
in words.

Totally Optional Prompt: You're listening to the radio

Totally Optional Prompt: Keep right except to pass

Today during Journal Writing in block 3, I gave my kids the prompt: You’re listening to the radio. I decided to write to this prompt, too, since I’d tried to write to the TOP during blocks 1 and 2 but nothing was happening. Wouldn’t you know, the minute I stopped trying…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You’re Listening to the Radio

It’s a transistor radio
propped up
on the dashboard
of your family’s
1964 Ford station wagon.

“Hang on Sloopy” is playing
and your mother asks,
“Is he saying, ‘hang on stupid’?"

Mothers! you are thinking.
You are fifteen,
your mother doesn’t want
you dating yet,
or kissing, even.

You glare at her
as if she has just said
the dumbest thing.

She turns her head
and looks out the window

as your superior smile
slides right by her.

Competition

This week’s prompt for Sunday Scribblings is Competition
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Spelling Bee

Sister Alexander stood
in front of our sixth-grade class,
small face,
black olive eyes
mustache like a caterpillar.

We students,
split in half,
lined each side
of the room,
boys in slacks,
button-down shirts,
and string ties.
girls in skirts,
blouses
with new bras
showing through,
and knee socks.

There was a magnet
over there and his name
was Paul Daley;
my eyes just couldn’t
stop resting
on his freckled face
and crew cut.

Slowly, one after another,
words were flung
at the students.
You could see those words
hit them right in the face.
Their eyes would widen
and they’d throw letters
back at the teacher
who would shake her head.
And one after another,
they’d shrug
and sit down.

Eventually, there was only me
and Paul Daley left.
A word would zip to Paul
and he’d spell it correctly;
another would fly to me
and I’d do the same.
Back and forth
Him and me
Him and me

The way I’d been dreaming
ever since third grade
when the sky
of his eyes
turned the sun
in my chest
to butter.

Finally, Sister Alexander
said, “colony”
and I could see
the letters
lining up in my head.
Paul went first
“C O L L O N Y”

A few of the other students gasped
and he knew.
Now, all I had to do
was spell it correctly.
“C O L”
I glanced at Paul.
When had he gotten
so much taller than me?
I saw a cloud
dim the blue;
his smile
flat-lined.
“O N N Y.”

The next word
didn’t matter.
Paul knew it;
I did (n’t).

The boys
cheered him
as I took my seat
amid the understanding
groans
of the girls.

And I sat there,
the stones
from Sister Alexander’s eyes
rattling around
in the shell
of my brain.