blue Christmas dawn
reflected on scratched ornaments
and snow drifts on the walk;
chipped paint porches,
tire swings,
buffalo nickels and melting cones
and apples purple wrapped.

we slid in and out of the seasons
banging the swinging door
that kept the dragonflies out.

we cared not that the cement burned
the sides of our skinny legs,
as we sat cross-legged
and played with jacks
or ran to kick the can.

our scalps damp and our throats
cooled
by glasses of lemonade,
the sun and the sky
and the air were ours,

as the breeze flapped our collars
and teased our hair.

do you remember those days?
those perfect days?


Gloria Caballero