Elegy for the Appalachian Summers of My Childhood
Elegy for the Appalachian Summers of My Childhood
For the smell of honeysuckle & the itch of poison ivy,
for the sun-baked sweat stains on the armpits of our tank tops.
For the bumpy toads that blinked at us as we clutched them
& the slimy ones that slipped from our fingers. For the July fourth
festival with the local orchestra’s “Star-Spangled Banner,”
violin bows bobbing like our fathers’ fishing lines. For the sparse fireworks—
our dandelions dissolving in the sky. For the cracked alley
whose potholes we filled with pebbles & the house next door
whose peeling paint we couldn’t help but pick. For the neighborhood
cats that tangled around our ankles & the barking of mutts
& beagles that greeted us behind every fence. For when the world
only stretched up as many hills as I could pedal on a 90-degree day.
For the problems only as big as a bee sting or a sandbox
left uncovered. For the sandcastle I formed before the storm.










