As I’d mentioned in my previous post, my grandparents had a garden in their backyard when I was a kid. We grew big winter melons and zucchini, pouring smelly fertilizer to help them grow. I remember the tall stalks and how maze-like the whole garden felt.
Both at my grandparents’ and at my house we had college-aged next-door neighbors: mainly frat boys, and they were loud and obnoxious. One time, my sister Lisa and I were in our grandparents’ garden when our noisy next-door neighbors yelled down at us, “HEY!”
My sister Lisa was the first to look and I heard her gasp; I remember she told me, “Sis, don’t look!” But I looked anyway: the guys were mooning us in broad daylight!
That memory has been etched so deeply into our psyche that my sister, who is a poet, wrote a poem about that moment. Her poem is much more descriptive than this blog post here. You can listen to her read this poem and a couple of her other poems at The Poets’ Weave, part of Indiana Public Media.