The reason why the green screen door in the attic of the Midway House was a sign.

 The Day

On a day very much like this one

only long ago

I woke late

To sun yellow as a fried egg

and the music of small town traffic--

to the slow bass decrescendo of big rigs

the staccato braking of the locals

the odd happy honks of howdy

coming through the blind--

And to Grandma’s thick shoes

pacing off the distances

between table and sink

and the white enamel stove

where bacon spit.

That particular morning

I had no plans, no expectations.

I would spend some of it poking a stick

     into minty ditch mud

And drawing pictures with it on the walk.

I would stalk the neighbor’s cat through the garden

And bounce my fingers along the fence wires as I passed.

I would dare myself to walk all the way to the tracks

to feel the terror, the rush and rumble 

of the great freight cars

clacking the marrow of my bones.

I would be brazenly disobedient

like the several drowned children 

my grandma cataloged

And dip my skinny legs into the rushing icy canal.

I would make just wide enough circles

around the horses and cows 

tied to fenders and phone poles

along my journey.

I’d watch their quiet eyes watch me.

I ‘d talk to them in a secret language.

I would sit cross legged on the porch

at eye level with grandma’s rolled down stockings

held in the middle of her shins with rubber bands.

And listen to her gossip while she shelled the peas

their pop 

their pinging into the tin bowl.

I would eat supper

with Grandma and Grandpa and Sherm

around the table set with a flowered cloth 

and melamine plates

under a yellow bulb made flickery

by its halo of winged things.

There would be some kind of meatloaf I would not try

And a neat square of cherry jello

with a smear of Miracle Whip.

There would be catsup.

And then a long warm evening

sitting on the lip of the porch

my legs dangling in the soft warm air

hovering just above the grass.

And there would be junebugs and crickets and sprinkler music

and behind the green screen door with its silver hook

the muted sounds of television.

Out in front of me

was the whole world painted in backlit blues and greens.

And me feeling it all as if I had no skin.

Then finally back between the cool white sheets

And listening again to trucks going by

My ten year old self so innocent of the fact

that this was it--

this was The Day--

the one day of all my thousands of days

that forever after and for the rest of my life

I would run to.