I.
Monsters imitate mourning doves
sad crickets conjure faded cabins
1930’s vintage motor court
I used to live here
Blue spruce trees tower above
a rusty swing set
chalky Adirondack chairs
squeaky bed springs
The well outside the kitchen door
where I pump the green handle longer than my arm
the plunger’s sweet metallic song
draws cold, clear water in August
The mulberry tree
where I hide to eat
overripe juice bombs and pop out
to scare my grandma as she trims roses
The card table where my grandpa
teaches me poker at three
chess at six I was born on his birthday
he dies when I’m seven
The back yard where my brother teaches me
to switch hit just like the ‘61 Yankees
they all call me Mickey
he escapes when I’m eight
My room (used to be my sister’s)
where she tells me my first dirty joke
A white horse fell in a mud puddle
her GTO peels out when I’m nine
the big lawn where my dad and I play catch
the barn where I hide
when he battles my mom
II.
They sold the place in 1991
the buyer burned the buildings
scorched the mulberry put up “For Sale” signs
the lawn grew to meadow
I’d stop by every few years to pump the well
overgrown with raspberries
same sweet metallic song
drew black sludge
The last time, on my way to a funeral
spruces almost strangled by wild grapes
lawn-meadow brush-hogged “For Sale” signs gone
surrounding cornfields now parking lots
The well spicket faced the wrong way
yanked casing mud-baked on the ground
plunger rang hollow
I took the broken handle home
III.
Startled awake a toddler screams
over and over a piercing rasp
that makes me want to run away
The nightmare’s over let it go
Monsters follow
