Promise: Novena Day Six

Promise: Novena Day Six

On rainy days we’d mostly play

inside and upstairs though it was often

enough she said get out

of my hair and sight and we’d tighten

up the fort and eat green

apples until one of us

(usually you because I hated

taking it to the woods to dump

anything I had to squat for)

ran over that hill she’s buried

on now and found some shade

and far enough away the smell

didn’t waft and wind-sway

back into our faces.  And on days

her hair was back

in a bandana, maybe making

bread, she’d need us, or me

at least, to pound the air out

roll after roll of fttt, ftttt, ftttttpt

until it would go all out flat

and then, neat as a clean diaper

and quiet pin, rolled in a loaf

all tucked in, and if the heat

was right it would rise high so

one piece was really two pieces

if you cut it in half and when

I was done and the air was out

of the room, and the pan greased

and especially the corners, I’d

come find you hiding under your bed

and your crying was done

and you’d turn your back to me

for not playing and I made you

a promise: once the bread’s done

and cut you’ve got my piece

too and I could see this begin

to persuade you.  I’ll save it, I’ll heap

it with jam I know where to nick

a jar well take it into the fort

when the sun comes out come on

come out from under the bed

and you wouldn’t not just then

and so I went flat and stayed flat

and looked at the pee

stains on the underneath

of your mattress and imagined

it all, your world through the wood

slats and said we’re in a rocket

ship and this was our final

blast off and I talked you through

it like it really was and once

you relaxed and held my hand

long enough I knew you believed

me and we waited there

under the bed, for the bread to come

out of the oven, and butter

and stolen jam and a fort

what kid could want more,  huh?

Tell me, what kid could want more?