The Lemonade Days

Written by: Gracie Bawden

We had come a long way from the lemonade days,
Watching the crisp off-white fizz ebb and flow against the tall sides of our glasses
Dribbling over our fingernails, as we dozed in the hammocks
That smiled between the great oak trees of his garden

And his future boomed out in huge round bubbles
That bounced between the branches
Bursting into intricate fizzy webs of retirement plans
Wrap around porches
Shiny vintage cars
And a ship
A great thing that cast shadows that rivalled the waves it would sail 

Now something flat and dull creeps over grey sands
Stains dark the toes of my grandfather’s suede shoes
As he peers down at a wooden dream
That rocks sleepily
Its oars crossed like stubborn arms
His great face, flat and grey like a newly crumbled cliff,
His eyes small and dark like caves
He takes my hand
And takes me home.