Springtime
Growing up in Pennsylvania
I remember the smells of springtime
in my country neighborhood.
Apple blossoms, new grass, lilacs.
Trout.
Every spring, Fish & Game would stock
the little creek that ran through.
Fishermen would line the banks
waiting for a bite.
We’d open the fridge
to the smell of fish,
which smelled much better
when Mom fried them in a pan.
She’d always caution us
against choking on the bones.
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