Still Hungry
From start to finish
today my sister and I walked the woods.
We mimicked the wildlife and crossed the creek.
We told stories in the sunlight and shade
and peeped at the birds.
Thirty years ago
these same birds' ancestors ate from our hands.
Today we scattered seeds on the bare ground
and watched the bickering birds convening
with one track minds.
We walked back in time
and shared giggles at things we'd fought over -
like the biggest piece of pie and who sat
next to dad in the car, important things
like George Waldencott.
Tears flowed from our eyes
recalling a chipped tooth and broken arm,
burns from cigarettes we'd hid in these woods -
a few of the scars from fights for the rights,
rights of the other.
Our lunches eaten,
our lemonade thermos emptied too fast,
still hungry for mem'ries of days long past.
She sneaked a cookie from its hiding place
in her shirt pocket.
She took off running,
holding it high in the air, looking back
and yelling her dare, "Nana, nana, na - na!"
Racing t'wards home we climbed the garden wall
and split the cookie.
And at last she spoke
words I had ached to hear since their wedding -
"Thank you, Cissy, for letting me have George."
She went home with hubby and three children.
I went home, just me.
6/10/13
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