When September Comes

We drove out of the backwoods of Louisiana planning next year’s visit, where we would stay, what streets we would conquer, the tours we may take. The cemeteries, famous and forgotten alike, the white and the black, we would lay hands on those stones that called to us, say hello to our old ghosts, hello to some new.

The plans we make when we know we are lying to our children, it is a fine line.

The truth cannot be explained in any way that will be understood until the future comes as predicted, not by a seer or a tarot reader, but that future that only adults can feel in their souls,

(there won’t be a “next” year sweetheart, don’t ask me why I know this)

The lie cannot be excused until it has become a thing of the past,

(Yes sweetheart, I knew, like I always do)

And so new promises are made in the present

(Sweetheart, we can go in September this time! No work, no school!)

Promise? I promise.

And so August is roaring like a lion on the winds of a date come too soon, and we both know, and make little eye contact.

Before we left I took as much spanish moss as I could carry in the suitcase, the trinkets and baubles left on the couch, we told each other “just in CASE we don’t make it back”, so we both knew.

The moss left behind waved goodbye to us as the plane took flight, it knew too.

We decorated the tree out front with our stolen spanish moss, at night when the moon is full it looks just like Her, Louisiana that is.

We added blue and green and purple globes to the barren landscape to remind us of Royal Street, or the color of the mist when it meets the night air in the backwoods.

And so we were blessed this year with rain in this barren land, so much that our dirt is now overgrown with weeds and grasses as tall as a man and our tree drips green lace. The tips mingle with the riot of life below so that it is difficult to tell which is growing up and which is growing down.

And so we cut secret paths in the brush when the moon is new, so that when it is full we can play hide and seek with each other, giggle at the new paths the wildlife has tamped, we get lost, and we get found.

Tonight I swear I saw an alligator by the duck pond.

I’m sure it’s just a lizard but they do grow them big here.

The ducks don’t seem to mind him much so we will call him Elvis and tell the neighborhood children that we have a Real Lyve Loozi Anna Gater in our yard.

Of course you can only see him if the Moon is just so in the sky,

and if he wants to be seen.

(Yes Sweetheart, looks like we made it to September afterall!)


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