CARROLL GARDEN MEMOIRE

by Donna Joy Kerness

I turned my head around and saw my body
across the street sharing a tree with a dog—
everything has been floating around
including the children—
the market floor is like a filthy sponge
bouncing me from aisle to aisle—
I can’t even find a yellow grape—
a group of hairy old vampires salivate by
the meat counter—
and I slither through the checkout
with double bagged groceries
carrying it all like feathers and cream—
the old men playing bocci ball
in the park scream—
and the children play hop scotch
over the dog poop—
we pedal tricycles sometimes, but it can
get sloppy—
I can barely suppress this ecstasy
of sneakers tap dancing in my groin
while forsythias take the place of sunshine
I can almost smell a field of grass,
an ocean, a mango, a melon
and an orange moon melting
in the lining of my skin—

Either I’ve become a fruit,
or it’s really, really Spring……….