Email Poem

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Poem

I am seven.
It’s a sunny, autumn day in 1948.
The sky is blue, the air is crisp
And Old Man Ironton’s leaf piles await us.
Manuel, his handyman, has carefully raked them into
Inviting, leafy mountains
In his mansion’s spacious front yard.
They look like termite mounds on the African plains.
I go next door to get Guy Geiger
And together we run to Old Man Ironton’s front yard.
We like to play spider and fly.
Guy is older and he’s always the spider.
The leafy piles are his web.
He closes his eyes and I bury myself under one of the piles.
The leaves make rustling sounds as I mound them on top of me.
They smell like Halloween.
Guy has three tries to find which pile I’m hiding under.
I hear him attack the first, 
Yelling and throwing the leaves into the air.
I stifle a giggle.
Then he attacks the second with the same results.
I begin to laugh out loud.
Have I just given myself away?
But I’m sure he knows where I’ve been all along.
And then he jumps on me and we roll around on the ground
Laughing and throwing the leaves into the air.
Old Man Ironton parts his curtains
And watches us through his front window.
He knows Manuel will fix the damage tomorrow.
I’m sure he knows we know he’s watching us.
He smiles. We smile. 
Life is good.

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