Leaving
In the country neighborhood where I grew up,
we cousins and friends would rake leaf piles
and have a grand old time leaping into them.
Or we would gather some leaves to slip under
a piece of white paper and rub crayons across
it to make a leaf design, being sure to rub
the thick stems and pronounced veins.
Or we’d press some between wax paper
until the walls were overrun with them.
After we moved away, when Mom would find
a startling colorful leaf, she’d seal it in plastic
and tuck her creations in her letters inciting us
to homesickness
and to travel the 2,ooo miles
back home to Pennsylvania, grandkids in tow.
We figured that was her motivation all along.
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