Briarwood

By Jelisa Gonzalez | November 6, 2023

Photo Credit: Adobe Stock Images

I look up at the trees lining the hills,

As pillars to my greater childhood virtues

Ecstatic rushes of humility burn my stomach,

Making me feel, all at once, young again

Rolling on two wheels to the end of the hill

A light and a honk

Give the indicator that my life was preserved

I smile and continue to play with the butterflies in my stomach

Allowing my face to be pummeled by pressured water

Running to the opposite side of the rubber

Gripping my fingers to the clanging metal

Swishing my feet from side to side

As I tire from just that,

I carry myself to the fortress where all the little devils played,

Gossiping,

Wisping from one tail end to the other

Smirks paint their face, not so much to know if they are

Friend or foe

Instead, I walk to the water box

Where the little devils filled colored latex

And direct them to opposing party heads

Just as I make way to leave,

My mother hands me green

My face lights up with glee

And she allows me to order that corner slice,

Alone

But I know,

Trudging up that hill,

Slice in hand, two-wheeler on the other, that I can

Bask in the beauty that is my briarwood