Earlier we played statues on the steps, the
game being to be caught standing in the best
stationary pose at the count of however many;
but after dark, we hid. Crushed rose geranium,
peppery nasturtium, bay tree trunk or pickle
crock, we found our places by their smell.
“It” had the gnarled and knuckled honeysuckle
vine, which felt like holding your grandfather’s
hand. Onetwothreefour or five hundred by fives
and whitey in the rabbit hutch turned his big
eyes blanked out by moonlight to look at what
he couldn’t see. The breeze came a long way
from the ocean to rock an old chair on the
porch, twice, and Helen’s father came home
late for supper. Wonderifhebroughtcandy.
Tired, tired Little Bird hid, on her spindle legs,
and Great Old George with his front teeth out,
and Helen, and Adrian, whocouldlookather
locket if she felt afraid, and Terrible, the
Cheater, hid, and Andrew, who had never been
up late before, and hearts pounded and children
sucked honeysuckle right up to the alleeallee-
oxensfree. But was there too much hiding and
not enough seeking? Did we leave one out in
the dark unheard? Little bird? Little bird?