Lily's feet...

It was 66 degrees here in Boston and Lily was playing outside in her bare feet. Watching her enjoy the warm weather reminded me of a poem that I wrote a long time ago before I had kids and was still a Peloquin.

Saturdays

Summer Saturdays were the same.
Early pale yellow mornings
and Dad mowing the lawn.
The air
warm and sweet.
Daytime chores,
glass windows washed
and bed sheets pulled tight.
Late afternoon
blues and greens.
Shadows pulling against the lawn.
Mothers heels clicking upon the
yellow hard wood floor.
The perfume and cologne
softly swirling
around the house.
Doorbell rings,
the babysitter from two houses over.
Dinner instructions
and orders for a bath.
A kiss,
Mother's fragrant waxy print on my cheek.
Then
dinner, the bath
pajamas and a story.
Nightlight on, thank you.

Young brother and me,
barefoot creep outside,
back door, jars in hand.
Wet grass and pearly white worms
sticking to our toes.
Moist night smells and insect calls
ears and eyes
growing large in the dark.
Bright eyes searching...
finding!
such small brilliant bursts of
fairy flame.
Whispers frantic and important
catching the small creatures
in our glass jars.
Three or four maybe
until some distant forest noise
inspires seven year old terror
of Bigfoot and other Unknown Nasty.
Running on tiptoe,
inside,
upstairs.
Jars beside the bed.
Stories and sleepy giggles.
The nightlight off
and quiet slumber in the gentle blinking lights
of fireflies