Wheat colored
Strawberry Mountain
Morgan Lake
Blue Mountains
Island City
Mint fields
The rock crusher was across the river from the big yellow house. I can still remember the smell of creosote soaked wood in the hot sun.
The smell of the warm yellow grass. The dirt was so soft, it felt like corn starch between my toes. The train tracks surrounding the house.
The big inner tubes Papa would bring home from the loaders so we could float on the pond at the quarry. The smoothness and warmth of the inner tube in the hot sun reminded me of Nana’s belly. I liked rubbing my cheek on it. My safe place.
The hole in the side of Papa’s shop. A crawl space just big enough for two of us kids. Our comics. Baby food jars with our potions of perfume, dirt, bugs and puddle water.
The big pear tree out front with the bats.
That’s where I lost my heart. I think I left it in the blue bathroom. Or maybe the back bedroom. I know there’s a piece in that crawl space. It’s definitely there, at the big yellow house, across the river from the rock crusher. I can hear it beating still.
Words Hurt 