by Dawn Leas
In backyard gardens
we hide and seek . . .
blue wisteria,
full-bloom Magnolia.
I climb the fence like a boy.
ready or not
I jump
picket catches
my shoelace,
and I’m falling–
Lucille finds me hanging
upside down
hair skimming ferns
below. She tugs
at my shoelace, and
I somersault into the ferns,
cool, damp
Lucille lands
behind me
and the chase
begins again–
around the weeping
willow, through honeysuckle.
We weave in and out of her mom’s
bamboo garden,
collapse on her porch swing.
Faces streaked
with dirt, we gulp
lemonade, wipe
our mouths on T-shirts.
Swinging slowly, our tennis shoes glide over
common ground.