Stephanie Y.

That day, the damp grass

slowly dried in the muddled light,

while lumps of snow hid under the bushes.

The trees dripped,

showering our brick patio.

That day, mud squelched

between our bare toes,

and the knees of our jeans

became soiled

with permanent grass stains.

That day, a gnome home was built

against our white house.

We spent hours creating it,

in hope of seeing evidence of fairies

the next morning.

That day, the neighbor's dog

poked his scruffy nose

through the weak, molding fence.

A wet tennis ball landed with a loud splat

on the pavement for the dog to chase.

That day, we took turns,

lying face down

on the rusty blue swing set.

We would swing like pendulums,

our numb feet grazing the puddle below.

Today, the ground is frozen.

Spring is late this year.

The neighbor's dog has long ago passed away.

The fairies are no longer our largest curiosity,

and our backyard is rarely used.