Childhood

I read in bed, when the sun finally broke through the lace curtain
I read on the porch, dew and dragonflies, neighbors waking up, buckets banging
I read in the milk line, when there was nothing else to do
I read in the kitchen, water boiling, grandmother sighing
why don't you do something
I read in the strawberry patch in between the spurts of weeding
smudges of dirt and grass between the pages
mosquitoes
It was hard to read in the currant bushes, fingers black and blue
arms aching
I read by the side of the lake, where no one was watching
what took you so long?
nothing, nothing
I read on the old couch by the fire pit, after potatoes had been watered
cucumbers covered up with polyethylene
I read while she watched TV, forte piano sonata performed by Evgenij Kissin
Back in bed I wrote poetry and read, longing