Then

back you will go in dreams
in your dress with the rosebuds,
the wide pink sash

not to the classrooms first,

but to the woods where we all played
whatever we wanted to,
wished whatever we wanted.

kicked up dust storms
as though we were ponies when we ran
and found real arrowheads

on every hand.

there the honeysuckle bloomed
for each of us at noon
and we were filled with pineapple

upside down cake
and did sommersaults in the grass,
played Chinese jump rope made

of colored rubber bands
while the trees waved sympathetically;
the rain clouds held off for awhile

waiting for storytime to boom outloud
while Teacher turned the page
and we looked at the pictures.

golden is that place to me
as though a separate land.
and I will go back one day,

if I can.
and learn to breathe again
the pine scented air

if not, to race with the wind.

and learn to care again-
for what I cared for, then.

mary angela douglas 29 april 2016