Green and Red
A poem
When we were children traveling up the high high hill of Overlook, my Dad would still the car to a crawl He veered a bit to the right brushing the trees and bushes glorious green edging the road before houses were built Catch the leaves! he’d say And we reached out the window to pluck handfuls of summer brightness we held our leaf bouquets, gave them a drink at home In those days, he’d drive down Broad Street to a pharmacy for prescriptions the whole family piled in for a ride in the big old Chrysler One evening, a car made him angry weaving in and out of traffic with window down, he said to Mom Let’s see what this idiot does next Beside our car, another was idling its passenger overheard those words, said Fuck you, man! for all of us to hear My face bloomed hot and red, crying because he was humiliated I wanted to tell that guy my Dad wasn’t talking to him that he was the kind of person who would let his kids catch leaves
Oh, Nora. This is beautiful and sad and something to go back to for ever. This feels so real and up close.
There’s such tenderness in the way you capture both the magic and the awkwardness of childhood. Thank you for sharing this small, honest slice of family memory.