An Outcast Memory

They talk about their summer nights
Fireflies in bottles, warm puddles
Of ice cream, the fireworks
And lazy hammock afternoons
Dark sunglasses that hide their eyes
Like Zorro's mask; they are mysterious
And carefree, toes cold from the
Salty waves that lap their feet like
Frothy tongues. She listens and drinks in
Their words like lemonade with just enough
Sugar and coolness to ease the summer heat.
They ask, and you? She stops
And remembers.
The dog with matted fur, mud-encrusted feet
That ate the trash outside the door
And slinked away from her eager hands
Longing to caress his hideous face.
The yellowed curtains where
Moths' fuzzy bodies and tickling wings
Retreated when the pale sun
Rose over the unfinished brick houses
Clothes hanging out of dirty windows
Weeds pushing through the concrete cracks.
She remembers her father
Red and withered like a dried tomato
Bent, limping, weary eyes
Big hands, like those of Michelangelo's David
Whom she found in a library's dusty corner.
Not really a smile; but some wrinkles on those
Leather cheeks, cracking lips quivering
Upward toward the gray-blue sky.

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Allegra Kraszneikewicz, age 16
2008 Finalist
Carmel, California
Submitted independently