Sand and Rock Streets

When she was small she played in sand and rocks,
With broken stick etched roads that a flat stone had
Graded. Knobby knees dimpled with gravel, a brush of
Hand, maybe twice, moved and shoed dust and
Dirt. Grey clay swirled in hot arid air while grit settled
Brown around once white folds gathered at her heels.

In those days her socks were always white from the package,
White from bleached laundry hanging on a wire in the sun.
Brown and crusty laying on the floor near the door, shaken
Outside before making their way back in. Something like the
Gritty smile of a kid who plays with lizards in the desert. Gravel
Streets meant bandages were always at home on those knees.



This poem was prompted by Poetry Thursday 's

streets i have known...