Blue Mountain Arts Poetry Contest

Grandma’s Backyard
by Uma Ribeiro

Fortieth
Contest
Third Place

I am sitting on the deck of my grandma’s house,
At the top of the stairs overlooking the backyard,
Which, as I grow bigger, only seems to become
More and more massive each time my eyes set upon it

And in one of the many left corners,
Or right corners, depending on where you want to look,
Is a blue ball with Pooh Bear and his friends
Covered in dirt or perhaps mud,

As there’s been a lot of rain lately.
And the big tree has now shed all of its leaves for November —
The tree with the beautiful pink blossoms in the springtime,
The only thing which remains seasonable after all these years.

This particular tree waves lazily
And all the others wave with more urgency:
A storm is on its way, they seem to say.
Before a storm, it is hard to tell

If there is wind making the trees sway or if the trees
Are generating a windy sound.
And as I look out at the backyard —
So familiar in its vastness, I see it all:

And there I am, six and sitting in the middle of the grass
With a blue book of old tales, reading,
Mumbling quietly to myself in the warmth of the summer.

And there I am,

I run with my sister until my knees wear out way too fast,
And I am touching the snow which covers everything,
Short sleeves because I like the coolness on my arms,
I like the goosebumps.

And there we are,

At not one, but two, three graduation parties, and I beam.
And there we are, breakfast on the deck like this is France,
And the orange juice is fresh.
And there we are,
Running like our lives depend on it right before going inside for snacks.

And here I am:

The wind seems to whisper back to me every piece of dialogue
Shared in between the vast fences,
And here I am with all the versions of myself and everyone else
And I see a tree sticking out in the distance

That I don’t recall ever seeing before,
Or rather, observing before.

It has wonky branches
And looks like it could reach the sky,
Looks as though it is touching the storm-ridden clouds,

And it must’ve been taken right out of a Poe story
And placed in front of me on purpose and I smile,
Not on my face, but somewhere inside:
How amazing it is

That each time I am here, there’s always something new to discover.
How amazing it is that I am always here,
Looking down below,
And always there,
Playing in the prickly grass.
How amazing it is that I am here and there all at once and will be, forever.