knitted from the fiber of my parents,
Irish green and French blue
with a bead of Creek red
woven into a field of anthropology.
tired of walking uphill both ways
since the road always rises to meet you,
while searching for the rich man
as easy to catch as a poor man.
sweet as tea and sour as pickles,
toffee brittle and pudding smooth.
a tie-dyed Volkswagen filled with gas,
running in circles on flat tires.
a hummingbird searching
mailboxes in front of skeleton
houses, boards dripping honey,
and bent, metal whistles.
stickers and milkweed topped
with dandelion and black-eyed Susan,
a bridal bouquet for Chatty Cathy
in a house lit by lightening-bugs.
under the bed, hunting jewels
handed down for dressing up
in tap shoes and Chanel #5
drenching a stuffed puppy’s ears.
big sis taunting little sis –
a mile high reach,
know-it-all answers, and
tap dancing attitude.
— Terri Lynn Cummings