yellow butterweed along a gravel road
a rainstorm’s puddle splashed in the middle

Waking up on grandma-time
eggs fresh from the hen house, fried green tomatoes 
hair big from the humidity, hers and mine

sweetly sour blackberries
In the summer sun, not quite ripe

Running around in circles under hot hose water
shouting nonsense into the woods 
and thinking that’s why it’s called a holler

mosquito-bitten, sun-red skin
Legs stretched over the side of the loveseat, 
watching a rented just-for-me VHS tape

stitching a someday-to-be heirloom quilt
kitty-cat fabric, needle-threading, and quiet practice
sewing my sandwiched scraps down the middle

peanut butter cookies warm from the oven
watching the clouds go by from the porch swing
on the deck my uncle built

her bedroom with the always-swept carpet
Wondering why grownups have so many necklaces

playing with the radio antenna 
listening to the hum of the window ac

pleading to stay one more day