Pieces

She liked her gravy under
her mashed potatoes,
the salad bar at Ryan's
because of cherry tomatoes.
She watched her brother and cousins
scuffle and fight
listened to her sister
grind her teeth at night.
She loved her dolls
and banana seat bike,
playing in the dirt.
Her favorite word was "Sike!".
There's a picture of her
reaching in a cabinet door,
tongue sticking out,
bare feet on the floor.
She went to first grade twice,
held back, not failed.
So inquisitive,
bright eyed, and pig tailed.
She loved doing flips
on the living room floor,
could do it all day,
until her neck was sore.
There's a picture of her
she stole her brother's cap,
and another one,
in her daddy's lap.
To this very day,
I can not say where she went.
There are pieces of her
in the houses they'd rent.
Or maybe in houses
she did not live in,
but considered a home place
just as much, within.
In the class rooms of churches,
the halls of schools.
Bed rooms where she was grounded
for not following the rules.
Hills she rolled down.
Gardens she stepped in.
Dogs and cats she hugged.
Play pens she was kept in.
Cars she rode in.
Grown ups she sassed.
Trees she fell out of
Loved ones that passed.
Swings she swung on
at parks she played at.
Mud she wiped off
on back door mats.
Screen doors she slammed.
Friends that she made.
Teachers she hated.
Prayers that she prayed.
Phone conversations
she had on bed room floors.
Siblings she fought with
but would give an eye for.
Pieces of her
in everything
from the thoughts she would think
to the songs she would sing.
For some strange reason
she wore panty hose with shorts.
and knew just where to go
when she was out of sorts.
God bless trailer houses
and imaginary friends.
They root in your soul
and are there to the end.

I wrote this about little me while looking at my photo album and remembering things that happened way back then.