A Fast, Bright Blur

A Fast, Bright Blur

Inspired by Paul Allen

You can't grow up spending summers

on the north shore of Hilton Head

beside the one run-down,

but always popular

(line out the door,

snaking its way around the corner)

ice cream shop

and just a 60 second walk

across the scorching black asphalt

to the beach decked with

sun-burnt tourists

and children building drip sand castles—

without your hair getting lighter

skin getting darker—

without learning how to sneak out,

remember to leave your sandy flip-flops by the door,

go when the band’s still playing at the tiki bar

so when the lock on the door catches

your parents only hear the steel drums and laughter—

you can’t do all these things

without growing up too fast.

Each orange summer your family rented bikes

for five dollars a day from the place

at the corner with the blue awning.

You, your mom, dad, and older brother

would ride in a single line

one after another

down the shaded sidewalks

under reaching oaks,

the curling Spanish moss

skimmed your heads as you rode

through neighborhoods

with houses the color of the sand

and nestled up close to the golf course.

You and your brother made a game

of counting lost golf balls.

The ones that had been hit too far out of reach,

past the green fairways, off course,

into the wet arms of the woods,

their white shine catching your eyes.

You and your brother always competing.

One, two, three, four...

then there she was.

The brown doe.

Her body crippled and torn

like a soaked paper bag

used and flung out into the street

and then kicked back into the woods.

Smeared red and bruised black.

Her neck twisted behind her

and her belly flattened down

to her white shiny ribs.

On the drive home,

with the marsh on both sides of you

you try to remember the past week.

Where did you go?

What did you do?

What did you see?

The whole summer—a fast, bright blur.

You may not know exactly when or where or how.

But you do know that at some point along the way

your childhood ended like a bike ride cut short

in the middle of summer.