I can't figure out if this poem is cheesy, sentimental, or (worst case scenario) both. Any opinions? I don't know where it came from. I sat down to write and knew it was going to have a robin's egg in it. That's about all.
we used to lie on the alfalfa bales at night
just on the tipping edge of summer:
we were so young
property was still a loose concept
and all we wanted to do was name things.
my sense of direction was better than yours.
your memory was so thorough your neck ached.
my mother used to make your father
a casserole every friday night
even though she didn’t like him much.
she said you could call her auntie.
this was before you told me
I would grow up to be a murderer
if I kept up tightrope-walking
along strings of ants on the sidewalk.
it was before I saw you balance a robin’s egg
on the delicate bridge of your nose.
it was before I explained to you
how mother birds will abandon their babies
if they are tainted by the scent
of a strange animal.