That Used to be Portland

I wrote this a few days before I moved to Vermont. I'm amazed that I remember as much of my childhood as I do. It was defined by a place that barely exists anymore. It has transformed. My memory is vast and I am slowly learning how to unlock it. Thank you to my parents for bringing me outside. Thank you to Jerry at the library. Thank you to Johnny for being a real one. Thank you to Terry for teaching me how to swim.

That Used to be Portland

i remember when it was a big deal to ride the bus

i was yay tall and held my Father's hand

we had no schedule and needed to get to West Bayside

we walked far for little legs

i remember Jerry at the library

before they lit up the front, it was all

brick & wood & wrought iron

always a lemon lollipop from the bank next door

before they moved out and People's United moved in

i remember honey sticks & single daisies

free slice of bread bigger than my fresh hands

the Public Market House

      (offices now)

with my Mother, who wore headbands & blouses then

i remember loving the rock-y pelican 

at Pleasant st Park, before it was renovated

it hid in the bushes, up high and to the right, it was my favorite

i remember always packing a 

jacknife, rope, and bandaids

when we would hike or camp

(just in case i got horribly lost in the woods)

(i really wished i would & have a wonderful adventure)

because I know I would've been better at it than Don Fendler

i remember playing GameCube with Johnny

on the box television on the white crochet on Mom & Dad's bed

the competition, the whining

the scrambled kid combat when one of us won

I remember Terry at the I Pool

teaching me how to swim - she always

called me Suzanne and Johnny "Jaw-nee"

my skin parched with the chlorine and the 

coconut-scented YMCA soap

i remember the farmer's market in 

yellow wagons and WIC 

digging a hole on the beach to find the water 

climbing Bradbury (the tallest mountain in the world)

and eating pb&js on top with butter on one side

naptime at Preble Street in that churchlike room