Remember the yards — great adventures back in the thirties.
Piles of stone everywhere. Robins and group sparrows built
nests there. We watched the eggs hatch out. And that horse —
the one who never had a driver — just knew slow down, stop,
and start again. Biggest joy — jumping on the backs of sleighs
filled with limestone — riding upstreet at Christmas. No child
was allowed back behind where lime was drawn off — where
piles of hot ashes came right out of the kiln. One day on a dare
a lad jumped in one of those piles — spent months in hospital.
The only well those years was at the kiln. We used pails to haul
the water home for Queenie and Napoleon. Remember that.
. . . . .
Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Sources: The Pickle Dish
Process: Remix and montage