I REMEMBER GRASS

A loud lawnmower noisily chops up the grass in its path as a white dog barks.
He doesn’t like it either.
The mailbox clatters as it vibrates.
The earth rumbles and my brain quivers.
Everything is shaking when the Mexican gardener comes.
See?
Si si!
I hear him Espanol-ing to his fence.
“The noisier I work, the faster I work. Then I’m off to someone else’s yard

to make their white dog bark.”

I miss the scraping of the rake.
Its slow repetitive metallic lullaby that meant daddy was outside working and I was safe.
Today’s child rock-a-byes to Pepe’s diesel blower and dreams of
Staccato jungle gyms and native roots.
There’s no safety in the smell of gasoline.

A lawn is such a beautiful plaything.
It is fun’s potential amplified and alive.
It was my job to water it.
Underground sprinkling systems had not yet taken over our home’s petty cash.
I earned my green from the green that grew.
I filled glass jars with its bugs
And I never
Ever
Guessed
It would be replaced

with

Gravel.