Not Madison Avenue,

North Shore Milwaukee.

No Cadillacs or town cars,

Station wagons and Saabs.

Not a high rise or Long Island plush,

but a Frank Lloyd Wright esque

sloping 70’s grand

no sidewalks, few stop signs

silence –

Our backyard a forest

with a secret path lining the south side

armed with Lilies of the Valley

the smell sticking to my shirt like a burr

as I run in the side door

out of breath

to find you alone with

a crystal clear Martini

one olive floating at the top

like a green buoy

and I got to suck out the juices

when it hit

the bottom.

 

I came back for a visit

in last night’s dream

methodically walking in

to every room

looking the same as when I left –

not when the boxes became the inhabitants,

equilateral squares taking our places and eating our air –

but  looking as you will always look to me:

This room my victorious secret in hide and seek

This room where Pippin always played and Magic was sung

This room where I wrapped myself within a cocoon of 70’s phone cord

This room where I slept with E.T. in my closet and rainbow wallpaper

This room where I wished for Twinkies instead of fruit

This room, with the two of them,

and I was both the jelly and the peanut butter

between the Wonders….

 

I will come back to visit you someday

when your siding is back to its natural deep chestnut brown

instead of the eggshell primer

that is your exterior –

making absolutely no sense

at all.