Yes, I knew you well old friend

But we must part our ways.

You will stay right where you are

Until your final days.

I will move and do more in life,

You'll stand in wind and rain.

I will find a purpose  

You have nothing you will gain.

Yes, my friend now I must go

I pray you don’t cave in.

And if you do,

someone will turn you Into a cabin.

All right my friend

We must say goodbye.

So long my friendMy departure is drawing nigh.
 

The little yellow house I called home had nothing.  Nothing I wanted.  Just the same old wood planks, dusty floors, and old sofas.  I wanted adventure, so I left.  I traveled for days until I came to train tracks.  There I waited for something to happen.

The purple sky was dark and stormy when the train passed.  Puffs of smoke rose high and the bitter smell of burning rubber and charcoal was all that was left behind.

    The forest was dark, and the treetops were barely visible from the ground.  A gust of wind followed the passing train, and scattering some fallen papers.  

    I picked them up, for I always was curious.  I tapped them against the ground to form a neat stack and stood up.  Ready to continue, I got up to leave.  I heard a noise.  Someone behind me cleared their throat.  I turned and saw a man.

(Illustration credit: Ava Kendrick, Waitsfield, VT)

The front porch,
where Aunt June would greet us
as we tumbled out of the old Subaru
into the dry dust of her winding, country driveway.
She would be sitting in her Adirondack chair
drinking an iced tea
and wearing her pink straw hat.
It was always summer when we visited,
always that squinty, humid kind of hot
that only a popsicle and a kiddie pool could cure.
Aunt June had both. 

The kitchen,
painted the same shade of blue as Cinderella's ball gown.
Aunt June would tell me to fetch her some ice cubes for her tea
and I would stand in front of the freezer with the door open,
letting the cold air roll over my scrawny frame.
There was no air conditioning in that old house.
Aunt June always said the heat kept her joints from getting too rusty.
Eventually I'd hear her call from the porch,
"Anita, what's taking so long?"
and I'd yell back, "Coming!"
as I'd scramble to fill a glass with ice cubes.
I'd pop one in my own mouth and crunch down,
making my teeth ache,
a price I was willing to pay to briefly escape the heat.