Runaway Memory

runaway

behind the library

that used to be the grammar school

where the old yellow bus

cranked open its doors and

spilled us out like

so many windup toys from a bucket

there’s a patch of mowed grass

smothered in bluets

and dotted with white violets

surrounded by pine trees

I clearly remember sitting under

with Donny and Raymond

my two best friends

since none of the girls would

play with me given I was fearfully shy

and dressed in the fringed cowgirl

skirt I got for Christmas

instead of a twirly skirt with crinoline

underneath

many of the venerable pines have fallen

since my school days

their brick colored insides scraped by a foraging bear

looking for grubs, maybe

(I saw the claw marks in the soft wood

and the dark distinct mass of its calling card

in the grass at the top of the knoll)

Pine Knoll they called this place

the stretch of green grass that grew straight to the edges

before dropping off in root-gripped cliffs that fell to the swamp

a great circle of grass humps and fetid water I once escaped through

darting off in the opposite direction when

Teacher headed the line into school after recess

sliding down a short cliff and hummock-hopping

my way to the main street before hooking a right onto

my home road and showing up at the door

startling my mother.

She didn’t send me back that day

let me sit instead on the porch swing with my PBJ

and a glass of milk contemplating my deed

I still don’t regret it and only wish escape was as easy now