By Shelley Debartolo
Grow To Leave.
I used to scrunch up dirt holes
On the curves and edges of the flower beds,
Dunking my head in the descending darkness.
You’d have a little visit
By my own house, taking time
Away from a bittersweet life,
Handing me over a chewable plushie.
Sometimes I’d sit at the wall
Next to your room listening to your notes,
Or times when we played near the sprinkler
And I whip around making a water fiasco.
It’s possible for me
To be so near you everyday,
Watching you help pour the tea at breakfast,
Your hands reach down to me.
I stood by your bed one night to have a peep.
Strangely I could only give you a frail whine
As you ripped a scribbled paper.
I wish I could tell you:
‘’It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.’’
You were once never this busy as you
Pull into the driveway,
It emptied out my fuel that I can’t
Make it towards the house if you fumble.
Memories floating, moments seemingly captured,