While I Work ...

... I wanted to leave a bit of poetry I wrote two years ago. I'm diligently gnawing on Book #3, and it is giving me headaches. I just think if Satan is throwing up all these roadblocks, then God must have great things in store for the third installment in the Republic series.  Until then, enjoy this.

Summer is a Memory

Summer is grass scratching the soles of my feet
as I fly down the hill to the tree swing.
It’s dipping my toes in Papa Jim’s swimming pool
and watching the water bugs skate across the green water,
the sun bleaching my hair and browning my skin
as watermelon juice slides down my chin,
my sister and my cousins’ laughter drowning out Material Girl on the radio.

Summer is an umbrella in hand and water beneath my feet
as I splash and stomp in puddles in the pockmarked road.
It’s the wind in my hair and my hands in the air
as I ride my bicycle to the store just down from Nana’s house,
then coming back and laying on blistering concrete
with candy cigarettes hanging out of my mouth, an Etch-a-Sketch in hand,
and my cousins beside me peeling stickers off the Rubik’s Cube.

Summer is a lemonade stand at the end of the driveway,
drinking more than we sell, ten cents a cup.
It’s my sister picking okra out of the garden
and eating it raw, not even bothering to wash off the fuzz.

Summer is a blanket-tent city in the living room
while thunder roars and lightning flashes outside the big picture window.
It’s running though the sprinkler,
blades of cut grass glued to the soles of my feet
and my cousins’ laughter chasing me into the house.
It’s Nana toweling us off and Spaghettios for lunch
and singing Thriller at the top of our lungs.
It’s a Spoonful of Sugar to the help the medicine go down,
and pallets on the floor,
a sleepover with cousins,
telling stories and scratching each other’s backs until we all fall asleep.

Jennifer Osufsen
30 July 2013

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