Friday, March 7, 2014

in loving memory of a maple tree

(writing assignment-memories, tree, love)
 my aunt carol's laugh
was like a muted tenor saxophone,
low notes and high notes
 musically interwoven with
familiar nasal midwestern blares,
hers being the loudest as
the rest of the orchestra,
joined in.
cigarette between red lacquered fingers with glittery rings
and long dyed red hair, up in a dated do,
she'd sip her gin and tonic on ice
with clinks of relief,
as she muttered another one liner or a jab
at her grinning husband-
through a cloud of smoke-
and with another blare of her sax-
 the rest of the orchestra joined in.
stomping clapping and knee slapping
kept the beat and the roll of her wit and ire.
us kids hiding in corners,
silently mimicking,
silently joining,
silently recording,
this harvest gold and avocado green scene of life
dreaming of the day we,
would play our own compositions.
the maple trees stood standing in the cool clean air outside,
along the sidewalk,
ever so slowly pushing up the slabs of ground granite
just for me to roller skate up and over.
skate key on a string round my neck,
cool and steel in my mouth,
the orchestra played on in the hot smoky house
as I now sat on the front steps
tightening the skates upon my red ball jets.
I loved the sound of the steel wheels on the concrete,
drowning out the muffled blares from within.
I knew every crack and ant hill and root and marble pot
along that shady sidewalk
as I coasted back and forth on my forever block.
I thought aunt carol would be forever.
I thought the maple trees would be forever.
I thought the sidewalk would be forever.
but they're all gone now
only existing fondly in these memories of love.