MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh

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Kelley’s Island

I am from sliding down the Glacial Grooves (now fenced)
I am from stepping on someone’s broken bottle half-buriedin the sand
of Sandy Beach, my sister Carolyn burying my trail of blood as
Mom carried me to the car; the doctor in the trailer near the ferry dock
stitching up my gaping foot
I am from Caroly carrying me on her back through the field of poison ivy
because she was not allergic (she was)
I am from the concrete steps down to the boat landing at the mansion
on the far side of the island; Grandma Page fell down, hollering
“Char-ruls” all the way; Grandma depended on my daddy, too
I am from Mom’s brothers, on leave from Army and Marines, on the barrel-raft
out in Lake Erie, yelling and waving to warn Uncle Bud in Navy whites
not to set foot on the slime-coated rock shelf that played at being beach
in front of our rented cottage
Bud’s legs ran many miles before they went out from beneath him
and he slid on his behind into the water
I am from campfires among the rocks on starry nights
singing to the mosquitos
and the goo of som’ores
as the sparks flew upward