There is an edge.
A stonewall in a meadow.
Moss covered ground stones.
The meadow is full of flowers.
Both sides just as colorful.
Just as lovely.
You are injured.
You drowse with your back against the wall.
Head bent under your broad brimmed hat.
Your gentle breath pushes the breeze.
Just as easily it takes the breeze inside you.
You are unaware of the sweat bees on your arm.
Within your sleep you feel stings.
It is not the bees.
It is the memory dream of a CSI episode.
The sun shines equally on both sides of the stonewall.
The wildflowers snuggle up against the stones.
In some places they are high enough to hide the low wall.
Your father stands on the other side.
Swallowtail butterflies decorate his bare arms.
His bare feet bear dirt from his walk to this location.
Your mother waits on this side.
She calls out to you to finish your math homework.
To come to the kitchen for milk and cookies.
Her calling wakes you.
You stand. The bees take their leave.
Your shadow casts itself across the stonewall.
Your shadow alters its angle on the other side.
Confused, you pull back from your father.
You notice the greenery grows at different angles as well.
You walk across the field toward your mother.
Not because she called you. But for yourself.
Nothing to do with television characters.
Who grow louder as you cross the meadow.
You return to the antiseptic room with white walls.
Your mother reads aloud a poem from Now We Are Six.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
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