Feels Like a Saturday
My childhood of the 1960's,
all those years ago,
feels like a Saturday in my
journey nostalgic.
The Cowsill's song "Flower Girl,"
their purity of song, of smiles.
A daydream streams,
of running in a field wearing
my Keds,
a sea of daisies and lavender
as wild rabbits sprinted in the
timothy.
So much, also,
of turbulence and change,
the long Vietnam War stole
thousands of our soldiers from
their teenaged American lives,
their sisters, our dedicated
nurse soldiers-
stanched their blood as best
they could.
My four siblings and I saw the
violent demonstrations in our
America,
anti-war, civil rights marches,
in the same nation of Disneyland
and the Mickey Mouse Club.
Feels like a Saturday,
my siblings and I-
we spent so many Saturdays
in the freedom kids enjoy.
Riding our Schwinn bikes
with baseball cards in the spokes
as the latest Beatles hit song on
the neighbor's transistor radio
carried to our ears.
During our elementary school
years,
on the last day of school before
summer vacation,
My father would pick us up
right when class let out,
we'd ride out to Montauk Point
for a week of camping,
lulled to sleep at night by the
melodious sound of waves in
the nearby moonlit surf.
We loved the Ed Sullivan show,
the zany Monkees band,
the campy "Batman" show,
and "Flower Power",
JFK, RFK, the Kennedy dynasty,
the legacy of Martin Luther King,
they've been asleep in the
solace of the ages.
Our Christmases back then,
of excitement, and so
festive,
my shiny new Wonder
rocking horse,
my brother's fire engines,
my sister's Fisher-Price toys,
and the gifted singer Andy Williams
Christmas shows.
My siblings, can you see and
hear my thoughts,
do you have many memories
of our past?
Do you recall that historic
summer day of July 20, 1969,
when we were outside our
Massapequa on Long Island
suburban home,
shooting each other with
squirt guns,
when Mom and Dad called us
inside to watch, transfixed,
the Apollo 11 moon landing.
Our assassinated charismatic
President Kennedy's hope for
our astronauts to be walking
on the celestial body of the
moon became fulfilled.
Old Kodak photos of the
New York 1964-65 World's Fair,
how we loved that magical place,
my three crew cut brothers so
innocent,
the youngest, my sister,
in my mother's womb.
Four years later,
she and I in Easter finery,
melted chocolate bunnies
smearing our faces.
Our tender ages have given
way to gray.
We haven't been under the
same roof in decades,
Dad passed away a few years
ago,
Mom is ninety-two,
I haven't seen her in over
thirty years.
Yet, it feels like a Saturday,
despite our separation.
America has become
angry again.
But, oh those Saturdays of
our childhood,
I keep treasured closely to me. ~
Copyright ©
Regina Elliott
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