April 16, 2020.
my old playhouse was destroyed by a storm and here i am with a poem
in came the wind, thunder, lightning, and rain
in a small, metal garage transformed to be a play house
was kitchen toy sets, a baby bassinet, and a small 'couch'--
a storage bin turned upside down to be a livingroom table,
a golden alarm clock, and a toy microwave we pretended was a tv (because of course we had cable).
was me and my younger cousin, pretending to have different lives.
some days we were a family with a single mother but with so much love and adventure.
my cousin would run out the playhouse doors, delcaring her independence
and i followed behind her, asking her to at least grab her coat (she could get sick!).
other days, we were a restaurant and a good one, at that.
we would make mud pies and steal water from the fish pond.
i'd sprinkle the grass on top with carefully chosen rocks.
and whine when our customers (all being my father) wouldn't eat it at all.
oh, but sometimes, i would be an "indian" boy hiding behind a fence
and telling my little cousin the name of all these flowers and bugs.
i'd ask her to listen to the trees when i couldn't even listen to my parents.
i'd find a long stick and guide her back home because she simply cannot be here, i had chosen to walk alone.
even rarer, i was a witch making potions with dandelions, rain water, and wild violets.
my father would take just one little sip, to be polite to an old woman, and suddenly act like a chicken.
i'd try to rationalize to him later how my potion worked, telling him it's science
and he'd say, why he was clucking so hard it could of killed him.
"really?", i'd ask.
"no", he would say, "i'm too strong for magic like that anyway".
to which i would point out, "but you.. were still actin' like a chicken".
"stuck in the details, like most women"
and so i would, naturally, play hit him and tackle
until he would yell, "uncle!' before things further unraveled.
eventually, the playhouse's calender on its wall went out of date
and it found rust and it's small porch discovered decay.
it became a sentimental part of our garden and front yard,
a manifestation of childhood memories and theater arts.
but in came the wind, thunder, lightning, and rain--
in a surprise attack by mother nature to make me remember who i was.
the wind tore the walls down, the thunder and lightning made metallic bams, and the rain washed away the dust, revealing who i am
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 328 times
Written on 2020-04-17 at 06:27
Tags Childhood  Memories  Youth
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