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Grace Haak Oct 2019
My dad and I would spend sunny afternoons
riding our bicycles
through my suburban neighborhood.
We would ride down my street
until we reached the sidewalk that diverged into two paths
and neither of them were less traveled by
as we always ended up taking both.
The right path leads to the small waterfalls
just past the basketball court
where my brothers and their friends
would play pick-up games.
Riding across the tiny bridges is a moment of brief bliss
as the sounds of the water rushing reaches your ears
and drowns out everything else.
We’d maneuver to the giant lake
filled with brightly colored kois
and serene storks standing out on the rocks.
Following the curve of the water
we would end up in a private neighborhood
where the blacktop is so shiny and smooth
that your wheels glide across the entire street.
And you can go fast
since it’s silent
and no cars come barreling down the road.
Somehow, we’d end up at that beginning sidewalk
and now it’s time to go to the left.
Over here, there’s a small playground
where my dad would chase my siblings and me
and I would hide in the tube of the slide.
We could spend hours there
on our spaceship
trying to outsmart Darth Vader and the dark side.
Just past the park, we’d reach the stretches of green belts
lacing their way through the streets
and the bushes I flew into
when first learning how to ride my bicycle.
We'd take a left after the dip in the sidewalk
ending up back on our street
and deciding that it’s getting late
once the sky turns pink and orange.
We’d end up back at the cookie-cutter house
that I don’t live in anymore
but part of it is still mine.
I wonder if the kitchen is still red
and if the guest bathroom still smells like lemons.
I contemplate knocking
only to remember that there’s a new family living there
making memories in our pool
and playing in the basement.
I smile, hoping that maybe
they will ride the same sidewalks I grew up on.
I paste these memories into a poem
but there is really no need
because remembering the twists and turns
of my old neighborhood
is just like riding a bike.
Grace Haak Oct 2019
i want to shower you in sugar
and unleash the spate of syrup
but that might be too strong
i want to give you candied comments
and reveal all my honeyed hopes
but i'm afraid that could be wrong
i have all these citrus suckers
and balmy butterscotch
and treacly truffles
i would give them all to you
but i don't want you to get sick
of me and all my candy
Grace Haak Oct 2019
cinnamon sugar
your hands mash the crumble cake
warmth fills the kitchen
Grace Haak Sep 2019
hot butter strolls down my face
and rolls down my nose
dribbles down my chin
and spatters the floor
the lustrous linoleum

i cry tears of sugar
it tastes much too sweet
as they mix with my thoughts
and pour into the cracked bowl
the jaded green memory

my hands are matted with white
and caked with delight
but it's a less-than-pleasant mess
i've used too much
it called for just a teaspoon
Grace Haak Sep 2019
I'm floating and falling
And sinking and sailing
Can anyone save me?
Prevent me from flailing?

I'm shooting and missing
And running and tripping
Can anyone help me?
Stop my feet from slipping?

I'm wishing and hoping
And wanting and praying
Can anyone see me?
Hear the words I'm saying?
Grace Haak Sep 2019
i sit there and wait
until you get up and leave
kitchen is now safe
Grace Haak Sep 2019
Your words put out my passionate fire
You ignore my calls of lust
Your breath ***** in all thoughts of desire
And I'm left breathing in our love of dust.
I used to think you felt the same
But the dust now hardens to rock
Now I'm a broken, burning flame
And time is ticking on the clock.
You write me letters of your love
But it's full of lime and sour
I pray to heaven's hope above
That we can last just another hour.
But time is up, and so are we
The fire has reduced to ash
The smoke has cleared and it's easy to see
That you left me with an incurable ****.
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