Childhood

spinning like plastic ballerinas inside the jeweled boxes

clicking rhythmically on small bars of metal

crying like little girls on Sunday afternoons,

leggned knees stained with the grasses of innocence,

fingers pointing as tear-filled eyes feel the words beating

daffodils sparkling like magic

blown into cornfields where kitty runs and hides every evening

the wooden duck on a string

paddles its rubber feet on slate stone and pebbles

fake grapes on nana's coffee table

wooden floors with age-old carpet

plastic placemats bare big bird and kite mazes

sippie-cups that don't spill the grape juice.

fisher-price never had it so well

45's rotate being careful not to scratch the needle always skipping

like us with hopscotch and jump rope.

life like chalk drawings on driveways

hideouts made out of large cardboard boxes

tooties rolls and ice pops which melted

giggling was all we knew to be true