“In or out?” we had to choose, mother said
that we had to make up our minds. We chose
to go outside and run around instead,
and spray each other with the garden hose.
“In or out?” mother said we had to make
a choice. We went outside and got into
the black, hollowed out plastic pipe, we ached
to take a roll, and when we did, we flew.
“In or out?” mother asked us to decide.
We went down to the woods to build a fort
made out of sticks and stones from the creek. I
loved playing with my brothers, my cohorts.
Those memories are never far away.
I often think about those summer days.
About the Creator
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More stories from Hannah Stanton and writers in Poets and other communities.
Political Thirty-Three
Inevitable? A woman named Good is lost. Unforgivable. * Note: I don't think that I have to explain this one to anyone noting recent news, but I have included a video link below for future generations who can still feel empathy and compassion for someone who got caught up in history. And I was just too angry to say more with this piece.
By Kendall Defoe 3 days ago in Poets
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
So beautiful and relatable well until I was 10yo perhaps. Only in my case, I was sometimes begging to go out and other times, especially after discovering reading, I was mostly inside.