32 Petals

32 Petals

Remember when school was out and you had complete
freedom to do as you pleased until dinner?
When after breakfast you got dressed
and decided what you would do with your day.

Your Mom relished those summer days too.
She could feed you and send you out on your way.
Knowing that you would be safe while you played
in your own front yard. In the neighbors yard,
or the now abandoned school playground streets away.

You weren’t really wanted or expected home
before dinner. Mom had things to do too.
Sitting in the living room watching the
three available channels all day, was never
a choice for you.
You explored vacant lots, run down houses,
played in fields and even parking lots.

You found bugs to tickle and grass to weave
into necklaces. Daisy chains to create and
marble tournaments to win.
You played hide and seek as darkness fell.
Red light Green light and Simon Says.
Hop scotch and jump rope filled your days.

You didn’t worry about kidnappings or the murders
of young people. You never worried over a
slowing car on your street. Every once in a while
the news would report some such awful
happening. But they were always so far away.
You never worried it could be you.
After all, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.

Trust in the world was easily found.
There was no reason to doubt.
Until there was.

The Manson family killed a baby and
Sharon too. Next it could be you.
Your step father sent your mother sailing
over the dining room table. Four tires were
slashed and rocks thrown through your living room
windows. Rage and alcohol filled you with fear
you wished not to know.

While pretending it wasn’t so found you making
hippy skirts and painting peace signs on
jeans. You smoked your first cool cigarette
because he made you feel old enough.
Dreading those hours, the invasion in your room.
A predator who smelled of old spice cologne.
Hairbrushes used when puberty arrived.
Scar tissue formed, natural birth stolen by abuse.

Our boys came home from Vietnam as an attempt
of your own to escape fails. You listen in
horror, hiding on the stairs as the results of your
screaming no play out against your Mother.
Games are forgotten. Hop Scotch is for children.
Mother May I…gains new meaning.
Patty Hearst was kidnapped and no one believed
it was true.

32 petals your escape from it all as resolve settles in.
32 petals on Daisies all over your wall.
Blurred by tears as he laughed as he saw.

Later, when grown, those flowers become your symbol.
Your savior, your strength. They show you survived it all.
A gardener is born. A landscaper’s eye is yours.
Dirt under your nails settles the hurt.

You watch the world change.
One of fear and locked doors.
Children don’t play tag as much anymore.
You birth children via surgery each time.
You mother and vow,
never will they need those 32 petals in their lives.