Lucy was eccstatic her height was ticket to ride, and woke each of the Fair’s four days giddy. We picked blackberries on the walk up, up to the fairgrounds. We licked local ice cream and met new baby piggies. We laughed with friends and shared in games with grandparents.
I wrote the following poem two years ago, and entered it in our fabulous fair that awards blue ribbons in written word. Now after another edit it fits another daughter like a glove:
a young girl’s journey into the fair
and tonight’s her first
tilt of her head
all smiles and dizzy giggles
sticky carmel corn
l i c k
all sea salt and San Juan sand
islands’ best down dirt rows
crooked neck squash with ribbon blue,
giant lemon of earth
sheep sheered while loom waits,
textiles like tides
pink ribbons, braids
ferris wheel eyes
mainland, mast lights
I want to ride the swings more than anything so I can be closer to those clouds. But, I am scared and concerned I might get sick. After all that morning sickness, who needs self-inflicted afternoon sickness?!
Well, Mama, maybe you want to wait until you’re forty-five to ride the swings. I think I’ll wait until I’m six.
Mama, why do you always make me stuff and then take it away and put it at the fair? It’s not fair.