When on the grass out back behind
Our grandparents’ house, the sun shined
Casting green glow on leaves and
Gentle blades, we’d play. We’d race
And ride, on bikes, mine stored in
The shed, awaiting summer warmth.

We’d straddle spinning wheels
Off the grass, down the hill
And to the driveway gate, where one
Would stop, waddle and wait.
Then, climbing back on like lightning
We’d storm up our gears
First, fourth, fifth, aside
When a car’d pass by, and ahead again
Till the empty lot was behind us
And the slim forest began.
On its rim, a bramble of spined
Branches, holding, guarding
The dappled delicacies we sought.

We’d stride inside, sometimes
With right boots, others in clammy
Slides, collecting slices to claim our prize.
Planting careful steps
Onto firm feet, we’d curl our shirts to cup
The plump berries
Sullying them with sweet black
Spots. Then our bounty
Gathered, we’d take our seats
Clutching our cotton baskets
As we steered with one hand.

We’d bound back home
Unclip the gate, up the hill
Forcing against the scattered
Driveway stones, then on the grass
Our bikes would slope and crash
While we dashed away.

Up steps, to the patio
Through the poorly-fit door
Planting at the dim kitchen table
We’d eat our score.

12.XI.24