I was a walker to and from school in Walkertown
and, though I wasn’t one to brag, 
I thought the town belonged to me…
or at least the little stretch from my yellow house,
on the corner of Pear and Spring,
to the red brick elementary school on School Street.
Each morning, after breakfast, I leapt flat-footed
from our front porch stoop, my belly full of cream of wheat,
my beloved denim satchel, handmade by Granny,
bumped against my hip, heavy with library books.
Miss Herrington, our school librarian, allowed me to check out
more than the limit (because I was the fastest reader).
Out the chain link fence, through the ornate gate,
I looked both ways, crossed the street
and nodded respectfully to Darlene, 
the fire hydrant, red as homegrown tomatoes.
She, with her cast iron arms like a cross,
resolutely watched me traipse by, book bag swaying,
In front of Miss Elsie’s, her twin poodles, Buffy and Jody,
whined at me, their noses pressed to the storm door.
I knew for a fact, when thunder rumbled,
Miss Elsie pulled the couch away from the wall
and made a safe space for her and those dogs
until the danger passed.
I wasn’t one to judge, though;
and if memory serves, most days were sunny.
On to school, treading carefully on the buckled sidewalk,
riddled with cracks, tiptoeing in spots
so as not to break my mother’s back.
In warm weather, blue-tailed lizards darted in and out,
bright as ground lightning,
their tails whipping like blue flames.
Then onward toward Mrs. France’s house…
Mrs. France, a mere shadow in the kitchen window,
lifted one hand from behind the sheer curtains.
I waved, but looked away, not one to pry.
The sidewalk skimmed over the retaining wall,
not so high; but when I dared to jump to the yard below,
it jarred from heels to hipbones.
If time allowed, I paused to sit on the safety bars 
that leaned drunkenly, guarding against falls
in their haphazard way.
Legs swinging, I surveyed my kingdom,
studying my friend Weeping Willow
who swept the ground around her trunk
with her swaying branches.
“Good morning,” I whispered
before leaving her behind.
By then, the school buses had arrived.
My heart swelled with pity for the riders,
their eyes half glazed with boredom…
all nearly lulled back to sleep by the rocking rhythm of the bus;
while I, enlivened, skipped past them, up the stone steps,
ready to learn, 
having swallowed a sip of my world and its lemonade sun.