When I visited my father’s parents, I was glad

to be allowed to call on friends a few doors away.

When not home I headed off to the salt marsh.

There I found what a child would love.  Especially having

moved back east from a segregated part of St. Louis,

where Civil Rights and Dr. Martin Luther King were discussed

as “Handing the country over to the Communists,” and part of

some sort of evil machinations in religious undertones

I really didn’t understand.

 

The few things I liked then were my first grade teacher

Mrs. Wandling, who was glad I could read.

Playing stick-ball in the street.

Two friendships that remain to this day.

And Mike Shannon, the St. Louis Cardinal shortstop,

who when he visited his mother just up the street

sometimes handed out tickets to we eager kids.

Though I was never well positioned to snatch one.

When finished he’d look up at those in back as if to say

and may have: “The lesson to learn is be quick.”

A lesson in the making that took decades, certainly.

I clearly recall how cramped houses were, even for celebrities,

making them like me and my parents.

 

Besides visiting grandparents who doted on me,

the salt marsh held special appreciation.

Openness at the confluence of three worlds

where thoughts float upwards—

signatures without pretense.

Gulls white as angels though scavengers really.

The decay and rebirth.

The glinting sea and the sun’s pure light.

Summer warmth.  White snow.

Forest of tall reeds and blue sky.

 

The sun blazes for everyone.

Another way to enter the world.

Another way to enter life.

The salt marsh a wilderness—

A world of discovery and I liked to linger.

Perfect happiness.

 

 

Stephen Cipot

Garden City Park