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?