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First Friend
by
Diane Lee Moomey

first grade—walking home the long

way because along that way are new

daffodils. Today we’ll play

at your house. Deep

 

in your maple shade, we eat Oreos

and fondle plump pink valentines

on feathery stalks. (Your mother

calls those flowers bleeding

hearts, but they don’t.)

 

We talk of fairies—are there

any? You think not.

 

Your baby brother wants

your lap, and hits me on the head

with his new garden trowel.

 

I cry. You kiss

the hurt spot, make better.

 

© by Diane Lee Moomey.
Used with the author’s permission.

 

 

Diane Lee Moomey grew up near the Great Lakes and, since then, has lived and wandered around the U.S. and Canada. These days, she dips her gardener’s hands in California dirt, and reads and listens regularly at poetry venues in the San Francisco Bay Area. Diane has published three books of poetry and prose and won a prize or two along the way. She enjoys long walks beside the ocean, reading mysteries, and painting in watercolors. Learn more about her at  https://www.pw.org/content/diane_moomey and www.dianeleemoomeyart.com.

 

 



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