In the Heaven of Hopscotch


one of my poems:

In the Heaven of Hopscotch


It is always two o’clock on a June afternoon

School is out

And I’m standing in the middle of Gay Street in the broad shade

Under a large full,

never pruned maple tree,

Gay Street near Everhart,

in front of a large lawn

where Kathy Corcoran

draws the hopscotch map

in chalk

on the macadam street.


I’m wearing the cotton sleeveless blouse my favorite – white with vertical stripes in rainbow colors.

I know that at home my mother, off from work for the summer,

energetic and serene, is making peach cobbler for supper,

and my father will be home at 6.

They are always 42 years old,my parents,

and that a box of Whitman’s floral mints

– my favorite candy –

sits on the dining room table.

No verb exists in its own moment

girl hopscotch



<a href=””>Youth</a&gt;


One thought on “In the Heaven of Hopscotch

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