There was a gully behind... So we called it, anyway, although... the house that I grew up in; actually, it might not have been. It was hidden by the trees at the back... Looking back, I never questioned what... of my backyard, past the leaves of poison ivy; the kids called it; I adopted its name. I learned that the hard way.
For all of my imagination... I used to love sneaking off back there... somehow, I was profoundly unimaginative; often by myself, and sometimes with after all, it only made sense that there would be my friend from across the street, who houses on the other side of my gully, a street could only get there through my backyard that I was unaware existed.
Peaking through the trees lining the other side... It always gave me a thrill, a sense... with my friend from across the street, I'm sure that my parents never set foot there, we saw another boy playing in a yard. All those brambles, the uneven, pocked earth; a boy that I knew from school! Shocked, it was a no man's land - who even owned it? I stammered, "What are you doing here?"
Jon looked at me like a crazy person... I also remember that old, rusted machete... "I live here. What are you doing here?" That was such a find! My pirate "Oh, my house is on the other side treasure... imagine a boy's excitement of the gully; that's what we call at finding a huge, proud knife like that. this place. This is my friend Justin."
Somehow, for no reason that I can recall... And those two older boys, much older I would hide the secret machete (why than Justin and me, who asked us if the girls did I keep it secret?) outside, in the gully. in fifth grade had started developing Justin was the only other person who knew "mosquito bites" on their chests yet. of my treasured blade and its hiding place.
We considered their question Then, one day, the machete was gone. Just gone. with very serious expressions on our faces; Right away, I knew that Justin had it. "Maybe just a little bit," we responded, I confronted him a day later in his garage; as if we were biding our time, waiting for them the machete was up on the wall. "My father says, to develop breasts for us to suck on.
'it's his; and besides, it's too dangerous Justin and I never went back to the gully together again. for kids.'" I knew he was lying to me. He had stolen Actually, I think that ended our friendship, my treasure; but, as a ten-year-old I couldn't lay claim and the sting of betrayal and foolishness to a machete that wasn't rightfully mine hasn't worn off decades later. in the first place.
Let’s write poetry together!
When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.–Ben Harper (b. 1969)
Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!