Small town America was a big thing in 1953, but Mama didn’t think it was the place to raise her girls. Home was a three room apartment behind a post office with a gravel alley view from the screen door. You could throw a rock at the grocery store, the telephone office, and with a good arm you just might hit the train as it pulled into town.
I’m not sure of the details, but I imagine Mama kept bending my dad’s ear until he thought it was all his idea to buy a tiny house on another gravel road two miles from hectic. I do know moving day left an imprint in my two year old memory. It came with a wagging tail and a yelp.
Gravel Is Gravel
Two years old…
the world no larger than immediate…
I found a house turned into a home
with the wiggle tail welcome of a dog.
Gravel is gravel and dust is dust,
but not to the little girl me who saw
through eyes glittered by magic.
With arms wrapped in fur
life was as gold as a promise,
tears didn’t mean pain, andmemories didn’t play hide and seek.
©Susie Clevenger 2016(Written for Kellie Elmore's #FWF prompt ~ Earliest Memory)