Nana threatened to send my brothers to the moon.
I asked how and she said
With a swift kick to the ass
And I imagined her leg Inspector Gadget-ing over the porch railing
Towards the Wiffle ball moon rising over the treetops.
I was squashed between Mom and Dad on the porch swing,
Paint chips pricking the backs of my bare thighs,
Wearing pool-blue short shorts and a shirt to match
And when’s a boy too old to wear an ‘outfit’
And instead can wear a pair of shorts and a t-shirt,
Items of clothing distinct from one another,
Unlike us three,
Singing “K-k-k-Katie, beautiful Katie”
Swinging back and forth, Mom’s slippered feet
Scraping on the concrete, rhythmic eeeking of the springs,
Clouds of gnats and firefly galaxies
And “when the moon shines
Over the cowshed”
My brothers buried a time capsule in the woods
And I know what it feels like to want to find something
And simultaneously hope it can’t be found.
[8 January 2014]