remember our back-yard growing up?
all of those kingdoms and nations
and our Indian tribes?
The tree-house that we’d fill with waterballoons
and sleeping-bags by night?
The secrets we’d tell
behind the garage
and the twigs and the mud
remember the hose in the summer-time
and the snow in the winter?
the forts and the acorns?
The cloudy days when we’d sit up the pine tree
or the clear warm nights
when we’d play man-hunt in
remember the sound of the leaves rushing through the trees
as the wind would blow?
the army men
and the bow that dad would let us shoot
the old pile of logs that we would find worms in?
remember trying to dig a swimming pool,
but it was just a hole?
when we would hide from Amir
behind those bushes?
remember when we had that old rope to swing on,
hanging from the big tree?
remember when we’d race down the sidewalk
on wagons and skateboards
with old plungers and fist-fulls
remember going back there to hide
or to cry in the bushes
when we didn’t want to be found?
remember all the army-men
and the times when the world seemed to end
at the fence by Mr. Anseley’s house and the sidewalk
in the front yard?
Well I remember,
and I don’t know why
but it makes me cry