memories
turned into
free form
poetry
I have a scar on my knee. I got the scar
when I was 7. I was a tom-boy. I never
really was a girly-girl. My sister and I would
always ride bikes together. We got really
good at riding with no hands. Even down our
big hill (in the picture.) My brother could pop
wheelies really good. Of course, I wanted to
do what he did. So I practiced, a lot.
However, one day when I was practicing, I
popped one wheely too big. And I ended up
with a bloody knee. It was a very large
scrape. In fact, it never went away.
The other day the smell of french fries reminded me of my Nanny. I remember
about four years old one Saturday night, sitting in a McDonalds with my Nanny.
It must have been pretty late because it was dark outside pretty empty inside.
My Nanny picked up two french fries and dipped them in ketchup. I asked her,
"Why do you do it like that, Nanny?" She said, "my mother used to that way. She
would love it when I would take her to McDonalds." Just then, I remember my
Nanny's eyes get wet. She told me how much she missed her mom.
I now dip two french fries at a time in my ketchup.
My Nanny's finger tips are soft and
smooth. They look like tiny wrinkled
perals. she always smells like handcream
and her car always smelled like fresh
tissues and green chewing gum. Early
mornings at her house smelled of coffee
and french toast. There she would be, in
the kitchen, in her powder blue bathrobe
and soft slippers, making breakfast.
maple trees that stood side by
side. I watched them all year
long, for years. I would watch
them through the long winters
with their bare bones with
standing our cold winters.
Then in the spring I would
wait for the tiny buds to
appear.
my trees. They provided nice
shade. There was a colony of ants
that lived inside of one of the
trees. They would march in their
line back and forth carrying food
or other dead bugs. I thought it
was amazing to watch. I always
knew it was fall because my trees
were always the first ones to turn.
They turned this amazingly
brilliant shade of blazing yellow!
It was like looking at two bright
suns! Fall was the best. My two
brothers, Gib and Clint, and my
sister Jasmine, and I would love
collecting all the fallen leaves and
piling them up and jumping in them.
This one fall, I remember we
stuffed my sister's clothes with as
many leaves as possible. We
wanted her to look like a chubby
person.
Those trees were kind of like an
extra family member, like a
brother or sister. They watched
us grow up. They were always
there through out the years. They
experienced so much our our life
with us. I miss those trees.
the day, I found a poem written by Lillian Moore
that sounded like I wrote the poem about my
trees.
The Tree on the Corner
I’ve seen
the tree on the corner
in spring bud
and summer green.
Yesterday
it was yellow gold.
Then a cold
wind began to blow.
Now I know—
you really do not see
a tree
until you see
its bones.
-Lillian Moore
