When I hear the word
Nostalgia;
I think of the trampoline
and how we weren't allowed
to put the sprinkler underneath
it; when anyone was home.
A big black lab who knew
love
but never manners
and who never
wanted to learn,
especially not from us.
We laughed louder than we cried,
and he must have thought
those kids are doing
something
everything
nothing
right.
Watching my
big brother
land his first and
only kickflip while
discovering dew-wet worlds
in the bamboo shoots
that grew
inexplicably
in our Connecticut backyard.
Eating crab apples,
and never getting
too sick to want
another one.
Sitting in circle time
not knowing
that we were
the only
black kids
but knowing that
our parents loved us enough
to teach us themselves.
Walking outside on
the first day of spring,
and baking on the pavement like
fresh brown bread.
Days that started with
waffles and too much Aunt Jemima,
and ended, invariably,
with Sleepy Time Tea.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
When I hear the word
Nostalgia;
I think of the trampoline
and how we weren't allowed
to put the sprinkler underneath
it; when anyone was home.
A big black lab who knew
love
but never manners
and who never
wanted to learn,
especially not from us.
We laughed louder than we cried,
and he must have thought
those kids are doing
something
everything
nothing
right.
Watching my
big brother
land his first and
only kickflip while
discovering dew-wet worlds
in the bamboo shoots
that grew
inexplicably
in our Connecticut backyard.
Eating crab apples,
and never getting
too sick to want
another one.
Sitting in circle time
not knowing
that we were
the only
black kids
but knowing that
our parents loved us enough
to teach us themselves.
Walking outside on
the first day of spring,
and baking on the pavement like
fresh brown bread.
Days that started with
waffles and too much Aunt Jemima,
and ended, invariably,
with Sleepy Time Tea.
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