Writing

Young Sundays

Poem • December 1, 1998


sunday afternoons of football games
and lukewarm chip dip
have become the staple connecting
my loose-leaf memories

outside
I run to hide
I run to escape
with a cousin or two

as the first blanket of snow falls
slower than the sheet tucking me in
the family gathers around
the glowing television fire


Notes

Previously unpublished.


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