My Private Wobegon

stories from home

We met when we were seven and eight,
by the wisteria arbor in my backyard.
She was new, from the house next door,
and peeked shyly through the fragrant vines;
smiling in sunshine and shadow
as we watched bare toes dig nervously
in the warm earth.
We swapped names
and giggled when we found out
that our birthdays were exactly
one year and two days apart.
We both loved unicorns
and dancing in the moonlight;
I liked to paint beautiful pictures
and she loved to sing.

Friendship sprouted from seeds
planted in toe dug holes
and entwined us more tightly
than the sweet wisteria vines.
We took hard root
and grew tall reaching for the moon,
fought dragons from the backs of silver unicorns,
swapped dreams,
told secrets we shared with no one else.
I would be a great artist and she a famous singer;
no matter how bright our stars,
we promised friendship
forever and ever
with pinky swears and girlish hugs.

She went away when we were sixteen and seventeen,
and for a long while
we swapped weekly novels
of college life and boyfriends,
that dwindled to hastily written letters
during odd moons
as hectic lives and new friends took hold.
Busy jobs, marriages, and children
eventually crowded our days,
so when the moons turned blue,
I did too, but life and time
have a way of pruning back regrets
for the good of even the most bittersweet vine.

One day when we were forty one and two,
she sent me a letter recalling memories
of best friends,
grand dreams,
and childhood secrets.
She wrote about an unusual little silver unicorn
that she had found in a dusty old shop
and how the smell of wisteria always made her smile.
She still loved to dance in the moonlight
and sing away the shadows;
and that the blue of the sea
in the painting I sent her last christmas
was so beautiful that it made her cry
and how sometimes dragons
just get too big to fight;
and forty one would never see forty two.

This morning,
two days after I turned forty three,
I planted wisteria by the fence in my backyard;
smiled at their heady perfume
and dug my bare toes into the warm earth,
as my grief spilled over
a little silver unicorn
cradled in the palm of my hand.

Primarily a freelance visual artist, she is new to writing poetry on a serious basis, taking it up about two years ago. She is loving every minute of her journey into the poetic world.

Melinda is a strong believer in a natural, easy-going style and she writes poems inspired by her own life experiences. She asserts, "I love to tell a story that anyone can relate to."
Her poems have won second and third place in the 21st annual 'Fields of Earth' poetry competition in Fayetteville, NC and she has been published several times in SkyLine Literary Magazine out of New York state.