Brown Azorean Girl
I am a brown Azorean girl with patched up knees on my blue jeans,
a country print blouse, and a ponytail dangling Spring pink ribbons.
I play hide and seek with dreams in haystacks and walnut trees.
I bring jars of peaches to the house from a dark cellar in sun streams.
Milk can tin men wink at me with shiny eyes waiting for a morning ride
on the local co-op truck.
I go to the antique store across the road and, “don’t touch” the dusty
shelves of colored glass, teacups and such.
Mainly, I go to see Sally in wide rimmed tied bonnets, flowered clothes,
and garden gloves.
The mission bells are ringing, as close and soft as baby baptisms.
I explore the creek, walking on logs, barefoot in polliwogs and watercress.
My heart breaks in thunder, falls to pieces, and stays to drip in the rain.
Scented quills of rosemary revive me with herbal medicine.
I spread out on the wood plank porch with dolls and seaweed laid in lines
to dry for soup, being me, between the sea salt and ocean breezes.
Grandma peeks through a lace curtain with “Old Country” smiles,
and I hug the moment with forever arms, remembering,
the way I was.
S. Ann Shepler©