Geckos Produce Nostalgia

September 15, 2012
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Before the dweller of the streets
Drew pavement to her bare feet
She walked a cracked and creamy sidewalk
Holding the straight black bars
For comfort,
For lift off.

Geckos ran like wild boar across
Cheap kitchen tile.
She’d squeal and leap away
Swatting at them with the broom.

Snarling and foaming at the mouth
Her curls frantically falling
And always tangled
She crouched low and readied herself to launch.

Perhaps one day she’d go back.
She’ll never again hunt fresh lizard
Or have a victory driven sister shove her
Into the dryer because,
“They’ll never even think
To look there.”

It was a kingdom of a one story home.
She learned the basics
For example, her name.
The driven sister wrote each letter
Religiously on the fold-up chalkboard.
“Alright, your turn. Yeah, do the ‘M’ like this.”

She was never nervous.
She was here and there.
She never did things other families did,
Like go on vacation to the beach.
Although she did play the triangle
At her preschool graduation.

A moment she still brags about today.

“Where are we going?”
To a different house. Its new and big.
“But I wanna stay here.”
She felt nervous.
She felt no where.
And her one story fantasy disappeared over the street.
Along with the checkered tile,
The scratchy sidewalk,
And the precious geckos
That she swore heard call her name.

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