Yards
I grew
up in a Pennsylvania country neighborhood
where yards
weren’t just little squares like in town,
but
acres to play ball, croquet, badminton, hide-n-seek.
Hills to
slide on in the winter time, ponds to skate,
creeks
to swim in, vines to swing on, trees to climb.
Who needed
a little wooden and metal playground?
When we were
out late or it was time for meals
the neighbors
would hear their dad whistle.
My mom
and aunts would just yell our names out the door.
After my parents passed I was taking care of things in the house
when I
heard my aunt yelling from her house
which was
across the road, at the foot of our large yard.
I went
down to see what she was hollering about.
She said,
“I’m glad the bellering system still works.”
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