Pink shingles on George St. in
Walking distance from school;
Surrounded by same aged children
And block parties with swings.
I could see clouds from my skylight
And grass from my back window
Under a red wood porch and a picnic table
Filled with friends and food.
Every winter we made tunnels
And every summer we danced in the sprinkler
I wrote stories and legends after we left-
What childhood magic this was
To protect me from truth for so long.
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