—a haibun
after supper she sends us out to play in the yard & get our ya-yas out,
one last hurrah of dirty bare feet & stinky little girl before bathtime,
then storytime, then bedtime. Sissy & I had drippy popsicles & we ran
to the farthest edge of the yard, to the border with the electric fence,
daring each other to touch it, spitting at it to watch it spit back sparks
shoeless toes flying
grass majesty a carpet
for the sons & heirs
but we were born daughters & although all of this is ours, somehow
none of it belongs to us. we will not know this until later, after we
don’t run barefoot in the backyard anymore, when we take showers
in the morning instead of baths at night & storytime is decided by
whoever gets to the clicker first. sometimes we’re not even home
for supper. Sissy got on drill team & only eats sugar-free popsicles now
running isn’t fun
there are electric fences
everywhere, unseen
once, I missed a fire ant hill hidden in the velvety green
whorls of monkey grass. before I knew it, hollow to the
shins in soft, crumbling architectures of ants, sickly white grubs
rolling between my toes before the burning poison sunk in as
each ant curled over on itself, stingers dug into my skin
poison teaches best
like fire, only blistered pain
trades knowledge for cures.
What lessons have you learned from fire and poison? Tell us in the comments.
Image Credit: Flickr
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