LPiA-23 Nov. 2

[rayheinrich]

< Freedom >

I wish that parents
could let their kids roam free again.

Freedom

Some kids at the library,
poking their noses into the room;
curious about poetry.

And here was an old man that promised to reveal its secrets.

Kids.
All five of them.

But they'd never hear of secrets, because one kid said he couldn't stay long.
He had to leave in half an hour when his mom got off work to come to pick him up.

And I said:
you only live a mile away,
you could just walk.

And they just looked at me like I'd said something crazy.

When I was your age, I said,
(I'm guessing they were about ten years old.)
I rode my bike to this library,
and I had friends who walked.

They couldn't believe it.

In the morning,
when I was your age,
I'd get on my bike
and ride two miles to school.

(My mom was a housewife, milkman delivered milk twice a week, put it inside
the door since we never locked it, small town behind the times, and earlier
my dad had taken our only car to work.)

Yes, I said,

alone.

Yes, I said again,

by myself.

(Small school, woods on one side, at recess the girls would make houses in the woods,
just a square of tree branches with an opening for a door.)

And after school,
I got on my bike and rode.

My parents only rule:
Be home by dark.

(We'd have supper every night sitting around the kitchen table, and afterwards
we'd listen to radio programs, we didn't have a television as yet.)

So after school
I got on my bike and rode;
In any direction I chose.

The subdivision to the east
with all my friends.
(Sometimes when I visited, I'd get invited to supper,
their mom would call mine, ask if that was okay.)

The library to the north;
Small wood building, single room, the scent of the books
as I opened them.

The forest to the south;
snakes and turtles,
with parts still unexplored.

And the bay to the west,
my favorite.

Some of my friends
lived on the bay
and had small boats.

We would row
to tiny islands,
made when they dredged the ship channel years ago.

A small string of islands that stretched about 3 miles.
Each one only 500 ft long and 50 across.
Old enough for bushes and a tiny tree or two.

We'd make forts (with one foot high walls),
from scrap lumber we took
from new houses being built.

We'd sit on the banks of our island,
watch the cargo ships pass by,
listen to the waves made by their wakes
splash up on our shore.

Our island.
Ours alone.

Every afternoon.
I could go anywhere my bike could take me.

My only rule:
Be home by dark.

Freedom.

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