Bicycle Summer

Remember riding bikes till streetlights came on,
knees scraped, hair wild, faces flushed and bright,
the neighborhood our kingdom from dusk till dawn,
freedom measured in how far we rode from sight.

We built ramps from plywood and cinder blocks,
attempted jumps that ended in grass stains,
kept our treasures hidden in an old shoebox,
and never once complained about the pains.

Those summer days stretched endless, warm and long,
time moved different when you're ten years old,
and life was simple as a favorite song,
and every day a story to be told.

Grandmother's Kitchen

The smell of cookies baking, bread rising slow,
her apron dusted white with flour fine,
she'd let me lick the spoon and watch the dough
transform to something almost divine.

Her kitchen was a place of warmth and magic,
where recipes were never written down,
where burned dishes were never truly tragic,
and love was measured by the pound.

She's gone now, that kitchen sold and changed,
but when I smell fresh bread I'm ten again,
standing on a stool, my whole world arranged
around this woman and her wisdom plain.

Some memories live forever in our senses,
breaking through time's strongest defenses.

Saturday Morning Cartoons

Waking early, creeping down the stairs,
turning on the TV volume low,
bowl of sugary cereal, sitting in our underwear,
watching heroes fight and villains fall below.

No worries about homework or about the future,
no understanding yet of bills or stress,
just pure absorption in each animated feature,
believing good would triumph over mess.

Those simple pleasures seem so small now,
but they were everything to who we were,
before the world taught us to question how,
when imagination was so much easier to stir.

Hide and Seek at Dusk

"Ready or not, here I come!"
The words that meant adventure was beginning,
hiding behind trees, hearts beating like a drum,
the thrill of not being found was winning.

The best hiding spot was behind the shed,
among the cobwebs and the garden tools,
staying quiet, barely breathing, filled with dread
of being tagged, of breaking rules.

Sometimes we'd hide so well we'd be forgotten,
come out to find everyone had gone inside,
but never feeling lonely or downtrodden,
just proud we'd won by being best at hide.

I wish I could hide from adult worries now
as easily as I hid behind that shed somehow.

First Day of School

New backpack, new shoes, new lunchbox too,
outfit picked out weeks before the day,
excitement mixed with terror of the new,
wondering who I'd sit with, who would play.

Mom took a photo by the front door,
me grinning with my gap-toothed smile so wide,
holding up fingers to show what grade, what score,
trying to look brave while wanting to hide.

Each year that photo marked how I'd grown,
taller, teeth came in, less afraid,
but that first one, standing there alone,
captures something that can never fade.

The child I was, so eager and so small,
not knowing yet that growing up meant growing tall.

The Corner Store

A dollar felt like fortune in my hand,
walking to the store on Saturday alone,
the candy aisle was my promised land,
decisions weighed as if carved in stone.

Swedish Fish or Smarties? Gum or chocolate bar?
The choice seemed monumental and profound,
my dollar wouldn't stretch very far,
but whatever I chose was the best around.

The store owner knew all the kids by name,
would slip an extra piece in the bag,
treating us all special, all the same,
never made us feel like we should lag.

That store is now a Starbucks or a bank,
but I still taste those penny candies, rank and frank.

Snow Day

Waking to a world transformed to white,
everything familiar made new and strange,
running to the window at first light,
praying school was canceled by this change.

Then the announcement on the radio—
our district closed! The day was ours!
bundling up in layers to brave the snow,
spending what felt like hours and hours.

Building snowmen, forts, having snowball wars,
coming inside only when forced by cold,
leaving puddles on the kitchen floors,
stories of the day that would be told.

Hot chocolate waited, marshmallows floating sweet,
the perfect ending to a day complete.

Treehouse Kingdom

We built it ourselves, my dad and me,
hammering boards into the old oak tree,
crooked and uneven but perfectly made,
our castle in the leaves, our fortress in the shade.

I'd spend hours up there with comic books,
eating snacks I'd smuggled from below,
surveying my domain from my royal nook,
master of all that I could see and know.

Friends would come over, we'd pull up the rope,
making plans to run away or sail the seas,
believing anything was in our scope,
invincible among the rustling leaves.

That tree was cut down when we moved away,
but my treehouse kingdom stands in memory's bay.

Bedtime Stories

"Just one more chapter, please!" I'd always beg,
not ready yet for sleep to take me under,<> Dad would sigh but never really hedge,
reading on through tales of magic and wonder.

His voice would change for every character,
deep for villains, high for fairy queens,
making each story richer, funnier,
bringing to life the book's imagined scenes.

Sometimes I'd fall asleep before the end,
and dream the ending that I didn't hear,
but more than the stories, what I comprehend,
was that time together, safe and clear.

Now I read those same books to my own,
and understand the gift I'd been shown.

The Last Day of Childhood

You never know which day will be the last,
the final time you'll play pretend or climb that tree,
childhood doesn't end with trumpet blast,
but fades away so gradually.

One day you just don't go outside to play,
you choose to stay inside with screens instead,
your toys sit untouched, collecting dust away,
and childhood lies there, not quite alive or dead.

If I'd known which day would be my last,
I would have played harder, stayed out later still,
I would have held on tighter to the past,
climbed higher, run faster, really had my fill.

But maybe it's a mercy not to know,
to let childhood fade like evening's gentle glow.