It catches me sometimes
when I’m unaware, when I
step out to feel the warmth
on my face, to hear the birds,
the bright air in full sun
that tastes of dirt and light,
like the earth after a blue-sky
rain — the taste of childhood.
That scent takes me to swings
and trees, to my Lemon Twist
and Big Wheel; those days
we ran our neighborhood
and every mother gave us
Kool-Aid and Popsicles.
We knew the schoolyard
after-hours as much as our
learned days spent looking
at chalk dust and sitting on
hard chairs, all those hours
we hung from monkey-bars,
hopscotched, sang out
Red-rover, and, inevitably,
all fell down.
—C.L. Fisher, October 2020
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