by Mary L Westcott
Monday, August 06, 2012
Rated "G" by the Author.
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I remember Howdy Doody on the small
TV in the dark 50’s living room in Wheaton,
Maryland, and the single bed in the little
bedroom, being frightened of something
under the bed, or maybe on it, and Santa
Claus sightings by my brother who insisted
he saw him in the night sky Christmas Eve
when I was six, and the song from summer
camp found a peanut, found a peanut, found
a peanut just now, how sad the song seemed
to me even then, and walking to church
and summer camp on Viers Mill Road, finding
treasures by the roadside for my secret box—
a marble, a trinket, a piece of jewelry.
I recall chocolate milk and not ever sleeping
at naptime in kindergarten. I loved
Tarzan and Pinky Lee, not multiplication
tables. I recall the attention
my toddler sister got when she broke
her glasses, and cutting my hand
in the dining room, a scar remains.
I don’t remember my parents much—
if I didn’t have pictures, I wouldn’t
know that they existed at all.