Eden McConnaughay, ’24

ladybugs and daffodils 

that’s what i remember

daffodils, butterfly bushes, roses, bluebells, trumpets, daisies, wildflowers

my backyard was a garden, growing and moving and shaping my mind with it

the words childhood home never fit right in my mouth anymore 

i can never picture my bedroom

the disjointed color scheme painting ugly frames of reference in my mind

but i will always remember my backyard

i had a pear tree

and an apple tree

the apple tree was always too bitter

the pears never tasted right

one time i bit a worm right in half, the juice and blood dribbling down my chin 

one time i fed a deer a pear right out of my hand, its eyes almost thanking me with its head bowed down

giving and taking from the world as i pleased, i felt complete

circular, even

i took rolly pollies and beetles, hiding them in different places than i picked them up

i hoped they would find their way back home

i gave avocado and lemon and strawberry seeds, planting them in the hopes of creating my own fruitful garden

over time, when nothing bloomed, and nothing sprouted, i stopped

the last thing i planted there was my own two feet,

rooted in the ground, 

barefoot and happy,

i collapsed, 

rolling in dirt and bugs and seeds 

i felt circular then

i always wonder if i’ll feel whole if i just go back

just to walk in the grass, barefoot, once more.