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Squeaky screen doors witnessed our release
as we heedlessly tumbled through,
slammed to its frame, Dad's reprimand abridged,
our voices voluminous as country children’s are.
slammed to its frame, Dad's reprimand abridged,
our voices voluminous as country children’s are.
Looney Tunes babysat early Saturday morns,
Fruit Loops eaten from the box;
(an unspoken bribe we gladly endorsed)
but come 10:00 a.m. we were wired
(perhaps all that sugar)
and arms and legs pumped simultaneously
as we shot toward freedom
and lax parental supervision,
when screen door was a barrier
between their world and ours.
Gone were restrictions, nagging voices
preaching decorum and tidiness.
We were free to muddy our feet
running through corn fields and riverbanks,
lakeside collecting toads (which I wouldn’t touch),
snaking our way through forbidden terrain
(short cuts through neighbor’s back yards)
and experiences never shared
with grownups. One such I'll never forget
featured getting stuck in quicksand,
chased by ravaged beasts, boot left behind.
We went back following day
to dried dirt path, red boot sideways,
backyard dogs barking … but we knew
(know to this day) we survived a terror,
perhaps an alien invasion. Our hearts
had pumped so, our whispered retellings grew
(perhaps more than a little)
but scraped knees and muddied palms still tingle
when I dream (every few years) of this, always glad
screen door shuts quietly, securely behind me.
screen door shuts quietly, securely behind me.
by Margaret Bednar, June 8, 2019
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Muddy". This true experience immediately came to mind. It wasn't an easy memory to put to a poem, but I gave it my best effort. Funny how the sound of a screen door always reminds me of summer. But now I realize my Dad took it off after "Indian summer" and put a storm door up for fall and winter.
I also must add, my Mother NEVER allowed "junky" cereal. Rice Crispies was her way of meeting us halfway. When I spent the nights at my friend's houses, I was so thrilled to eat Apple Jacks and such cereals.
I might have to do a poetry prompt based on the sounds of the seasons...
12 comments:
Thanks for sharing this story. It is vivid, with great word choice, particularly "snaking our way through forbidden terrain."
You are sooo good, Margaret. I followed and lived with every word, comma, semi-colon and period. And the picture, yes my dog was with us wherever we went, even down to the creek.
BTW, my poem is also a true story.
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I absolutely love this......you have captured those Saturday mornings, and childhood, the way it was for my kids (sadly not for me). Those moments of terror, the boot stuck sideways next day.......just so good, Margaret.
Ha! I didn't eat junk cereal until I was in my 5th year of university! I enjoyed this tale of fast and loose child childhood. So very good and so enjoyable to read.
I love how the word 'muddy' took you back to childhood days.. so much mirth and freedom to explore. I also adore the pic.
I always love your adventure poems, there is so much joy in the memories. I can hear the children playing, hyped up on sugar and mirth... I can smell the happy mud.
I love the idea of a sounds of the seasons prompt.
Love it. The encounter and lifetime memory of it reads like a story from Stephen King. At my house it was creekside and we were catching crayfish, or maybe fishing, though I didn't fish myself. I feel like I lived this poem, or a similar one. Thanks for this, Margaret.
You are right, sometimes it cane hard to get a memory into a poem, but here you did lovely work. Thanks for sharing!
Love the wonderful view of children's play... I remember the terror of imagined beasts hunting me as well... (but it was mostly in darkness)
Great story for sharing. Thanks, Margaret!
Oh, this takes me right to my childhood. I lived most of my days outside the screen door. I was always creek mud footed and weed scratched.
With you on this one ... to this day the look of a screen door on a house brings wonderful summertime memories AND Rice Krispies was my favorite cereal. Still is.
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