The Robin
Remind me of a simpler time, a simpler place.
So long ago now I couldn’t even say
When robins picked the fresh currants before I could get them
Competition for grandma’s summer jam.
Long days spent just staring up at clouds.
When a child could just roam in the yard all day.
Hair stirred in gentle breezes during hammock naps,
The dance of sunbeams through the canopy of maple leaves.
They found me often as not conversing with trees,
A fistful of wildflowers and skinned-up knees.
Mud on the hem of my new Sunday dress
Shoes in a puddle by the breezeway door.
Watermelon seeds spit into the grass
Never as far as my cousin Brian’s
Running through the sprinklers with shrieks of joy
Watching the wriggling night crawlers after a hard rain.
How long ago now and far away.
Nothing seems as easy or sure as those days
No time for catching lightning bugs in a jar,
No endless fields of rolling green.
Barely burden the barren bough outside my window.
Breast aflame with rusty plumage, sharp eyes.
I like to think you are watching over me
I don’t want to tame you, but I want you to stay.
© Stacie Ferrante
3-5-09
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